WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

^^^M   ^fc  «CK*K» 

HAROLD  BINDLOSS 


It  looked  as  if  the  Mulatto  knew  this. 

Page  82 
(Wyndhams  Pal.) 


WYNDHAM'S 
PAL 

BY  HAROLD  BINDLOSS 


AUTHOR  OF 

'The  Buccaneer  Farmer,"  "The  Girl  from  Keller's," 
"Brandon  of  the  Engineers,"  etc. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company 


DNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LO.  LES 


COPYRIGHT,   1919.   BY   FREDERICK   A,    STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHED   IN   ENGLAND   UNDER   THE  TITLE   "wYNDHAM'S   PARTNER" 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


PRINTED  IN  U.  S.  A. 


PART  I  — THE  LURE  OF  AMBITION 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP     ......       3 

II  MOONLIGHT  AND  GLAMOUR     ,..,..     14 

III  CHISHOLM'S  PERSUASION     „     „    ,.,    ,.,    ,.,    :.     26 

IV  THE  MAN  WHO  VANISHED      .     .     .     .     .     35 

V  THE  TORNADO    ......;.,    ...     .     .     45 

VI    THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  .......     54 

VII    THE  Tow 64 

VIII    THE  LAGOON 74 

IX  DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT     ........     85 

X  MARSTON  USES  His  POWER      ..    •..    -.1    -.     .     97 

XI  MARSTON  GOES  TO  SEA  .     .     .     ...     .107 

PART  II  —  WYNDHAM  CLAIMS  HIS 
REWARD 

I  MABEL  PONDERS       .     .     ....  .  .121 

II  MABEL'S  PEARLS .  .   131 

III  PETERS'  OFFER .     .  .  .142 

IV  THE  LOST  EXPLORERS    .     .     .     .     .  .  .152 

V  WYNDHAM  CHANGES  His  PLAN    .     .  .  .161 

VI  PETERS  RENEWS  His  OFFER 171 

2125983 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

VII     WYNDHAM  PLEADS  GUILTY 180 

VIII     UP  HILL 190 

PART  III  —  REPARATION 

I    WYNDHAM  PAYS  DUTY 203 

II     MARSTON  GETS  A  WARNING 213 

III  WYNDHAM  TRIES  PERSUASION 223 

IV  WYNDHAM  FINDS  A  CLEW 232 

V    DON  Luis'  BREAKFAST  PARTY 242 

VI  A  SAIL  IN  THE  DARK      ...         ...  251 

VII  THE  TUG 260 

VIII  AT  THE  MISSION 271 

IX  Columbine  STEALS  AWAY 280 

X  THE  BAT  OWNS  DEFEAT 288 

XI  THE  BAT'S  EXIT 299 

XII  THE  FRESH  START 308 


PART  I 
THE  LURE  OF  AMBITION 


WYNDHAM'S  PAL 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP 

THE  breeze  had  dropped  as  the  tide  ebbed,  and 
Red  Rose  plunged  languidly  across  the  shining 
swell.  Faint  mist  obscured  the  horizon  and  the  yachts 
engaged  in  the  fifty-mile  race  had  vanished,  although 
Wyndham  thought  he  had  not  long  since  distinguished 
a  sail  in  the  distance.  He  was  curious  about  this  be- 
cause if  he  had  seen  canvas  it  was  Deva's,  and  her 
skipper  had  probably  seen  Red  Rose.  The  rest  of  the 
fleet  was  scattered  about  to  the  north.  Wyndham 
had  noted  their  positions  carefully  before  the  haze 
rolled  up.  He  wanted  to  win  and  meant  to  leave  noth- 
ing to  chance. 

In  the  meantime,  the  yacht  crept  slowly  through 
the  sparkling  water,  close-hauled  to  a  light  wind  that 
Wyndham  knew  would  not  last.  Her  canvas,  taper- 
ing in  a  tall  white  pyramid,  swayed  with  a  regular 
heave  against  the  sky.  In  her  shadow,  the  sea  was 
a  cool,  luminous  green,  but  the  sun  was  hot  and 
Wyndham  had  taken  off  his  coat.  He  wore  a  white 
jersey,  blue  trousers,  and  very  neat  white  shoes.  His 
age  was  twenty-six,  his  figure  was  thin  but  athletic, 
and  the  molding  of  his  face  was  good.  On  the  whole, 
he  was  a  handsome  man  and  was  generally  marked  by 

3 


4  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

a  careless,  twinkling  smile.  The  smile,  however,  was 
to  some  extent  deceptive,  and  at  times  his  blue  eyes 
were  hard.  Wyndham  was  popular ;  he  had  a  way  of 
inspiring  confidence,  and  knew  and  used  his  talent. 

Marston,  who  sat  on  the  yacht's  coaming,  splicing 
a  rope,  trusted  Wyndham  far.  Marston' s  round  face 
was  burned  red  and  generally  wore  a  look  of  tranquil 
good-humor;  his  mouth  was  large  and  his  eyes  were 
calm.  People  thought  him  dull  and  he  was  not  clever, 
but  Wyndham  knew  his  comrade's  stability.  Although 
Bob  was  honest  and  trustful,  he  was  firm.  It  was 
characteristic  that  the  splice  he  slowly  made  was  very 
neat. 

Their  paid  hand  was  occupied  at  the  clanking  pump, 
for  Red  Rose  had  shipped  some  water  while  the  breeze 
was  fresh.  This  was  not  remarkable,  since  the  boat 
was  small,  but  Wyndham  knew,  though  Marston  did 
not,  that  a  quantity  of  water  had  come  in  between  her 
working  planks.  She  was  old  and  needed  repairs 
Wyndham  could  not  afford.  For  all  that,  he  hoped  to 
win  the  Commodore's  cup.  He  had  particular  grounds 
for  wanting  the  cup,  and  Wyndham's  habit  was  to  get 
what  he  wanted. 

"  I  think  the  splice  will  stand,"  Marston  said,  throw- 
ing down  the  rope. 

"  Your  work  does  stand,"  Wyndham  remarked. 

"  Oh.  well,"  said  Marston,  deprecatingly,  "  I'm  slow, 
but  I  like  a  good  job.  Saves  time  in  the  end,  because 
you  needn't  do  the  thing  again." 

"  You're  a  philosopher,  Bob.  My  plan  is  gener- 
ally hit  or  miss.  But  can  you  see  Deva?  " 

Marston  searched  the  horizon.  The  gently  heaving 
sea  was  empty  and  Red  Rose  alone  in  a  misty  circle 


THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP  5 

three  or  four  miles  across.  Except  for  a  few  razor- 
bills, nothing  but  the  ripple  she  trailed  broke  the  re- 
flection of  the  calm  sky.  Then  his  glance,  traveling 
north,  stopped  and  fixed  on  something  faintly  dis- 
tinguishable against  the  thin  mist. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  see  her.  Thought  I  did 
some  time  since  but  she's  faded.  What's  that  in  the 
distance  on  our  starboard  bow  ?  " 

"  It's  hard  to  tell.  Might  be  a  big  black-backed 
gull  resting  on  the  water.  The  misty  light  magnifies 
things." 

"Shall  I  get  the  glasses?" 

"  Not  unless  you  want  them.  They're  under  the 
stuff  we  stowed  away  in  the  locker  aft.  If  Charley 
has  finished  pumping,  you  might  help  him  get  out 
the  spinnaker.  We'll  have  the  wind  fair  when  the 
flood  begins  to  run." 

Marston  and  the  fisher-lad  vanished  down  the  fore- 
castle hatch,  and  Wyndham  studied  the  distant  object. 
He  did  not  yet  need  the  sail  the  others  had  gone  for, 
but  he  was  afraid  of  Charley's  keen  eyes.  A  buoy 
indicating  a  shoal  was  not  far  off  and  the  sailing  di- 
rections for  the  race  stated  that  all  marks  of  this  kind 
must  be  kept  on  the  port  hand,  but  Wyndham  knew 
the  coast  and  imagined  the  tide  was  still  ebbing  in  a 
neighboring  river  mouth.  The  main  stream  ran 
north  and  would  carry  the  boats  off  their  course,  but 
near  the  shore  another  stream  ran  west  across  some 
wide  shoals.  If  he  could  steer  Red  Rose  into  this 
current,  it  would  help  her  on  while  her  rivals,  farther 
off  the  land,  drifted  back.  When  the  others  came  up 
with  the  sail  Wyndham  wondered  whether  Marston 
would  ask  for  the  chart,  but  he  did  not.  The  object 


6  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

they  had  seen  had  vanished,  for  although  the  wind 
was  light  the  boat  slowly  forged  ahead.  The  color 
of  the  smooth  undulations  indicated  that  the  depth  got 
less. 

"  Looks  as  if  we  were  near  West  Hodden  sand," 
Marston  remarked.  "  They  had  a  dispute  at  the  com- 
mittee about  keeping  us  outside  the  bank.  Makes  a 
longer  run.  but  some  of  the  deep  boats  might  have 
touched  bottom  if  they'd  tried  to  cross  at  low-water. 
Anyhow,  it  doesn't  matter,  so  long  as  we  all  keep  out." 

Wyndham  nodded  and  began  to  talk  about  some- 
thing else. 

"  I  hope  we'll  get  fine  weather,  because  I  need  brac- 
ing up.  When  you  have  not  much  money,  business 
is  a  grind  and  I'm  rather  young  to  carry  the  respon- 
sibilities of  the  house.  Things  might  have  been  easier, 
had  Tim  Wyndham  not  died  two  or  three  days  after  he 
fell  ill." 

Marston  knew  something  about  this.  Wyndham 
Brothers  was  a  small  old-fashioned  firm  and  Harry 
had  recently  taken  control  on  his  uncle's  sudden  death. 
James  Wyndham  was  extravagant  and  Marston 
imagined  he  had  left  his  affairs  involved.  Marston 
had  no  occupation  and  all  the  money  he  needed. 
Moreover,  he  was  Harry's  friend. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  you're  short  of  capital,  I 
think  some  could  be  got.  Sound  investments  don't 
pay  much,  and  now  and  then  I  feel  I'd  like  a  venture." 

'  You're  a  good  sort,  Bob.  For  all  that,  you  had 
better  leave  business  alone,  because  you  would  get 
robbed.  Of  course,  if  I  saw  a  safe  and  profitable 
speculation,  I  might  let  you  join,  but  just  now  I'm 
occupied  trying  to  put  things  straight.  Some  are 


THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP  7 

badly  tangled.  I  used  to  think  I  could  carve  my  way 
to  fortune  if  I  got  a  chance,  but  so  far  it's  been  my 
luck  to  use  broken  tools." 

Marston  thought  this  was  so.  Harry  was  a  good 
shot  and  racing  skipper,  but  he  had  never  had  a  first- 
class  gun  or  boat.  Still,  he  used  the  make-shifts  well 
and  sometimes  beat  better  men. 

"Yours  is  a  pretty  old  house,  isn't  it?"  Marston 
remarked. 

"  Wyndhams'  was  founded  in  the  days  of  the  slavers 
and  privateers  and  has  traded  in  West  Africa  and 
South  America  ever  since.  The  house  was  famous, 
but  its  decline  began  when  steamers  knocked  out  the 
sailing  ships.  We  stuck  to  the  old  vessels  and  own  one 
or  two  small  schooners  yet,  though  they're  only  used 
for  collecting  cargo  at  beaches  steamboats  do  not 
touch.  Some  of  the  documents  I've  recently  studied 
tell  a  romantic  tale.  The  Wyndhams  were  all  ad- 
venturers and  a  number  did  not  die  in  bed.  One  or 
two  vanished  abroad.  As  perhaps  you  know,  my 
uncle  Rupert  did." 

"  I  heard  something  about  this,"  said  Marston. 
"What  happened?" 

"  Nobody  knows.  He  left  the  West  Indian  factory; 
sailed  off  in  a  canoe  and  was  not  seen  again.  Books 
and  money  were  in  order  and  his  health  was  pretty 
good.  There  was  no  explanation ;  he  vanished,  that's 
all.  I  saw  him  once  in  England  and  thought  him  a 
sober  business  man.  One  got  no  hint  of  wildness,  but 
the  house's  records  indicate  a  vein  of  romantic  ex- 
travagance in  my  ancestors.  For  all  that,  my  father 
was  a  quiet  country  parson  and  I  have  felt  nothing  of 
the  kind." 


8 

Marston  pondered.  He  knew  Harry  Wyndham 
rather  well  and  had  noted,  in  moments  of  excitement 
and  strain,  a  curious  recklessness  that  was  perhaps  not 
altogether  normal.  For  example,  there  was  the  race 
when  Red  Rose  and  another  yacht  met  close-hauled. 
Red  Rose  was  on  the  port  tack,  and  the  rule  was  she 
must  give  way,  but,  until  the  last  minute,  Harry  sat 
unmoved  at  the  tiller.  Marston  remembered  the  piled- 
up  foam  about  the  plunging  hulls  as  the  yachts  con- 
verged, the  slanted  pyramids  of  sail  that  looked  as  if 
they  must  shock,  and  the  horrible  tension  he  had  felt. 
Then,  when  collision  was  imminent,  Wyndham  gave 
the  other  room  and  afterwards  laughed. 

"  I  was  tempted  to  find  out  how  it  would  feel  if 
we  rammed  her,"  he  confessed. 

This,  however,  was  some  time  since,  and  Marston 
did  not  dwell  on  the  incident.  His  temperament  was 
essentially  normal. 

"  No  sign  of  a  breeze  from  the  east  yet,"  he  said. 

"  All  the  same,  it  will  come,"  Wyndham  rejoined. 

Marston  looked  about.  The  sun  was  getting  low 
and  it  was  nearly  calm.  Now  and  then  the  topsail 
flapped  and  the  mainsail  hung  slack.  Blocks  rattled 
as  the  heavy  boom  jerked  about.  The  swell  was 
smooth  and  in  color  a  curious  shining  green,  as  if  the 
light  were  reflected  through  it  from  beneath.  It 
looked  as  if  they  were  crossing  a  big  sand,  but  Marston 
did  not  sound.  Harry  knew  the  coast,  and  the  sailing 
directions  required  them  to  keep  outside  the  shoals. 

In  the  distance  a  steamer's  smoke  trailed  across  the 
sky ;  one  heard  her  engines  beat  with  a  monotonous 
rhythm.  In  front,  the  mist  was  melting  and  vague 
gray  hills  were  faintly  distinguishable.  The  yacht's 


THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP  9 

deck  was  damp,  but  for  the  rolling  she  hardly  moved. 

"  We  had  better  get  some  food,"  said  Marston. 
"  I'll  light  the  stove." 

He  went  to  the  cabin  and  when,  after  the  rude 
meal,  they  lounged  and  smoked,  the  mist  suddenly 
rolled  away.  Long  hills,  with  woods  among  their 
folds,  ran  back  on  the  port  hand ;  in  the  distance,  a 
big  black  headland  cut  against  the  sunset.  The  water 
astern  was  hazy  and  dotted  by  sails.  It  was  now  a 
glassy  calm. 

"  We're  nearer  the  coast  than  I  reckoned,  but  the 
ebb  has  given  us  a  big  lift,"  Marston  observed. 

"  The  rest  are  a  long  way  back,  although  I  think 
they're  moving." 

"  They've  got  the  breeze  and  will  bring  it  up,"  said 
Wyndham.  "  Hoist  the  spinnaker." 

For  the  next  few  minutes  Marston  and  the  paid 
hand  were  occupied  with  the  big  triangular  sail,  which 
extended  from  the  masthead  to  the  end  of  a  boom 
they  thrust  over  the  boat's  side.  A  British  yacht's 
spinnaker  is  not  fitted  with  a  gaff.  At  first  the  spin- 
naker hung  slack,  but  presently  lifted  in  gentle  curves; 
then  the  water  splashed  against  the  planks  and  Red 
Rose  began  to  move.  She  gathered  speed.  There 
was  a  humming  noise  astern,  mast  and  rigging  creaked, 
and  foam  leaped  at  the  bows.  It  got  cold,  white 
ripples  streaked  the  sea,  and  the  wake  ran  back  in  a 
foaming  wedge.  The  spinnaker  swelled  like  a  balloon 
and,  with  the  tall  mainsail  on  the  other  side,  dwarfed 
the  speeding  hull. 

The  sun  dipped,  the  dark  sea  stood  up  in  ridges 
above  Red  Rose's  rail,  spray  began  to  fly,  and  one 
heard  the  rush  of  wind  and  groaning  of  spars.  The 


io  \VYNDHA\rS  PAL 

boat  yawed  about  and  steering  needed  skill,  since,  if 
Wyndham  let  her  swerve,  spinnaker  or  mainsail  would 
swing  across  and  mast  or  boom  would  go.  For  all 
that,  he  risked  a  glance  over  his  shoulder  now  and 
then.  Some  of  the  boats  were  coming  up;  they  were 
bigger  craft  and  gave  Red  Rose  time  by  the  handicap. 
She,  however,  gave  time  to  others,  and  must  save  it  in 
order  to  win. 

Wyndham  let  go  while  the  sea  got  rough,  for  the 
flood  tide  now  ran  against  the  freshening  wind. 
While  he  swayed  with  the  tiller  she  plunged  and  rolled 
about,  lifting  her  bows  out  of  boiling  foam  and  some- 
times burying  them  deep.  Water  flowed  across  her 
deck  and  presently  began  to  splash  beneath  the  cockpit 
floor,  and  Charley  started  the  clanking  pump.  A  full 
moon  had  risen  and  two  big  boats,  with  canvas  that  cut 
black  against  the  silver  light,  were  getting  near. 

"  I  think  \ve'll  save  our  time,"  Wyndham  said. 

Marston  looked  at  the  high  topsail  and  bending  spin- 
naker boom.  He  would  have  liked  to  haul  the  top- 
sail down,  but  his  comrade's  voice  had  a  strange  gay 
note  that  he  had  heard  before.  Harry  meant  to  carry 
on;  he  would  drive  the  boat  until  something  broke. 
Then  Marston  looked  ahead.  The  big  promontory 
was  not  far  off  and  moonlight  touched  the  towering 
crags.  The  sea  was  all  white,  for  the  current,  setting 
strongly  round  the  head,  ran  in  angry  combers  against 
the  wind. 

"  We  are  going  to  get  wet  in  the  tide-race,"  he  said. 
"  You  might  find  slacker  water  if  you  edged  her  off  a 
bit." 

"  And  sail  a  longer  course  ?  "  Wyndham  rejoined. 


THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP  n 

"  We  give  Dcva  four  minutes  and  she's  not  far 
astern." 

Marston  acquiesced.  After  all,  his  business  was  to 
obey.  "  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  Charley  and  I  had  bet- 
ter get  out  on  the  booms." 

He  beckoned  the  paid  hand  and  they  crawled  along 
the  deck.  Red  Rose  rolled  savagely  and  main  boom 
and  spinnaker  boom  tossed  their  ends  aloft.  The 
spars  must  be  kept  down,  lest  they  swing  across,  and 
Marston,  clasping  the  varnished  pole  with  arms  and 
legs,  crawled  out  as  far  as  he  dared.  Sometimes  he 
swung  high  above  the  combers  that  rushed  past  be- 
low ;  and  sometimes  swung  down  until  his  body  was 
wet  by  the  foam.  He  could  hold  on  if  Harry  kept  her 
straight,  but  if  she  swerved  much  the  big  sails  would 
lurch  across  and  he  and  Charley  would  hardly  escape 
with  broken  bones.  He  looked  aft.  Wyndham's  fig- 
ure cut  against  the  light;  it  was  tense  and  his  head 
was  motionless,  as  if  his  glance  was  fixed.  Marston 
knew  he  meant  to  bring  Red  Rose  in  on  her  time  al- 
lowance or  sail  her  under. 

They  drew  round  the  head  and  reeled  across  a  bay. 
A  row  of  lights  began  to  blink  and  two  colored 
lanterns  tossed.  Marston  saw  the  lights  for  a  few 
moments  when  the  spinnaker  soared  away  from  the 
boom.  The  race  was  nearly  over,  for  the  colored 
lights  marked  the  flag-boat,  anchored  off  the  long  iron 
pier.  The  committee  had  not  given  the  yachts  much 
room;  perhaps  they  thought  of  their  comfort  and  an- 
chored the  steamer  near  the  beach  so  she  would  not 
roll  about.  Smart  work  would  be  needed  to  shorten 
sail  before  they  struck  the  pier. 


12  WYNDIIAM'S  PAL 

A  shadow  touched  the  spinnaker  and  Marston  looked 
astern.  A  swaying  pyramid  of  canvas  shut  out  the 
moon  and  foam  leaped  about  a  plunging  hull. 
Ptarmigan  had  crept  up  and  would  go  past,  but  she 
was  large  and  allowed  Red  Rose  some  time.  Marston 
could  not  remember  how  much  she  allowed;  all  he 
could  do  was  to  hold  on,  for  his  arms  ached  and  his 
head  began  to  swim.  A  few  minutes  would  finish  the 
race,  and  he  wondered  dully  what  would  happen  then. 
There  were,  perhaps,  two  hundred  yards  between  the 
flag-boat  and  the  pier;  they  ought  to  haul  down  the 
spinnaker  now,  but  Harry  would  carry  on. 

He  saw  Ptarmigan's  topsail  tilt  downwards  and 
dark  figures  run  about  her  deck.  Her  spinnaker 
collapsed  like  a  torn  balloon,  but  Red  Rose  leaped  on, 
pressed  by  straining  sail.  Then  there  was  a  flash,  and 
the  report  of  a  gun  rolled  among  the  crags  ahead. 
They  drove  into  the  smoke,  speeding  side  by  side  with 
Ptarmigan,  and  the  flash  of  another  gun  pierced  the 
dark.  Marston,  crawling  in-board,  dropped  into  the 
cockpit  as  the  flag-boat  swept  astern,  and  for  the  next 
few  minutes  he  was  desperately  occupied. 

The  spinnaker  went  into  the  sea,  the  topsail 
thrashed  half-way  up  the  mast,  and  Red  Rose  listed 
until  the  water  was  deep  on  her  lee  deck.  A  white 
sea  swept  her  forward  as  they  hauled  down  the  stay- 
sail; and  then,  coming  round,  she  plunged  head  to 
wind,  a  few  yards  from  the  dark  ironwork  of  the 
pier.  Wyndham  came  to  help  and  soon  afterwards 
they  brought  her  to  a  safe  anchorage.  While  they 
stowed  the  sails  a  gig  crossed  the  bows  and  some- 
body shouted:  "Well  done,  Red  Rose!  You're  first 
by  three  minutes  on  handicap  time." 


THE  COMMODORE'S  CUP  13 

Wyndham  put  on  his  jacket  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
'  Not  bad  for  a  boat  I  bought  because  she  was  out- 
:lassed.  Sometimes  I  wonder  what  I  could  do  if  I 
lad  proper  tools,"  he  said.  Then  he  laughed.  "  Any- 
low,  we  had  better  start  the  pump." 


CHAPTER  II 

MOONLIGHT   AND   GLAMOUR 

ROCKETS  leaped  up  from  the  old  castle  on  the 
narrow  flat  between  the  woods  and  the  strait. 
Colored  fires  burned  behind  the  loopholes  in  the 
ruined  walls,  and  an  admiring  crowd  occupied  the 
lawn  that  slanted  to  the  water.  The  night  was  calm 
and  when  the  band  stopped  the  voices  of  a  choir,  sing- 
ing old  part-songs  on  the  pier,  carried  well.  There 
was  a  smell  of  drying  seaweed,  and  the  yachts'  anchor- 
lights  burned  steadily  in  rows  that  wavered  with  the 
eddying  tide.  The  last  race  was  over  and  the  towns- 
folk had  given  the  crews  a  feast  before  the  fleet  dis- 
persed. 

Marston  sat  on  a  broken  wall,  talking  to  Deva's 
owner  about  the  race  along  the  coast.  Elliot  was  a 
friend  of  Marston's.  Chisholm,  the  commodore's 
young  son,  stood  close  by,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

'  You  beat  us  handsomely  and  Wyndham  deserves 
the  cup  for  his  pluck  in  carrying  on  when  we  were 
forced  to  lower  our  topsail,"  Elliot  admitted.  "  Still 
something  was  due  to  luck;  you  got  the  last  of  the 
stream  along  the  shore  when  the  tide  running  down 
the  river  carried  the  rest  of  us  back." 

"Wyndham  has  a  talent  for  that  kind  of  thing," 
said  Marston.  "  Sometimes  you  feel  he,  so  to  speak, 
thinks  like  a  fish.  He  doesn't  need  to  calculate  when 
the  tide  will  turn  and  where  he'll  find  slack  water. 
He  knows." 

14 


"  Wyndham  has  a  talent  for  getting  what  he  wants," 
Chisholm  interposed.  "  Deva  ought  to  have  beaten 
Red  Rose." 

"Aren't  you  rather  young  to  judge?"  Marston 
asked,  with  a  touch  of  dryness. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  lad,  "  I  like  a  man  who  loses 
now  and  then.  You  can  understand  that  kind  of  fel- 
low." 

Elliot  frowned.  He  could  take  a  beating;  but  he 
was  curious  and  looked  at  Marston  thoughtfully. 

"  I  suppose  you  didn't  see  the  Knoll  buoy  ?  " 

"  We  did  not,"  Marston  replied.  "  There  was 
something  on  the  water  in  the  haze,  but  it  was  too 
small  for  the  buoy.  Wyndham  thought  it  a  gull,  a 
big  black-back;  his  sight  is  pretty  good." 

"  How  did  the  thing  bear?  " 

Marston  hesitated,  because  he  saw  where  the  ques- 
tion led,  but  he  was  honest. 

"  Nearly  ahead ;  a  point  or  two  to  starboard.  Any- 
how, it  vanished,  although,  as  we  didn't  change  our 
course,  we  must  have  passed  the  spot  rather  close," 
he  replied,  forgetting  that  he  was  below  when  the 
object  vanished. 

"  Then  it  was  a  gull,"  Elliot  agreed,  but  Chisholm 
was  not  satisfied. 

"Elliot's  a  sportsman;  I  don't  know  if  I  am  or 
not,  because  I  was  on  board  Deva  and  feel  hurt  we 
didn't  get  the  cup.  Wyndham's  a  smart  skipper,  but 
his  luck's  too  good.  One's  inclined  to  doubt  a  man 
who  always  gets  a  prize.  My  notion  is,  it  isn't  alto- 
gether due  to  skill.  Besides,  I  think  the  commodore 
would  have  liked  Elliot  to  win  the  cup." 

"  You're  not  a  tactful  lad  and  perhaps  you're  not 


16  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

in  very  good  form  just  now,"  Elliot  remarked. 
"  We'll  go  along  and  hear  the  band." 

They  went  off  and  Marston  lighted  his  pipe.  He 
was  rather  angry  with  young  Chisholm,  because  he 
was  persuaded  Wyndham  had  not  seen  the  buoy. 
Harry  was  not  the  man  to  win  a  race  by  a  shabby 
trick;  Marston  trusted  his  friends. 

In  the  meantime,  Wyndham  and  Flora  Chisholm 
occupied  a  bench  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  castle  wall. 
Now  and  then  a  colored  fire  blazed  up  on  the  battle- 
ments and  red  reflections  flickered  about  the  crowded 
lawn,  but  there  were  dark  intervals  when  they  saw 
the  water  sparkle  and  the  black  hills  across  the  strait. 
When  the  band  stopped,  one  heard  the  soft  splash  of 
the  tide,  and  the  choir  singing  old  Welsh  airs.  Flora 
voung  and  felt  the  glamour  of  the  calm  moonlight 
night. 

Moreover,  there  was  something  strangely  romantic 
about  Wyndham.  He  was  handsome  and  marked  by 
a.  dashing  recklessness  that  rather  carried  one  away. 
Flora  liked  his  pluck  and  bold  seamanship.  Her  fa- 
ther was  an  old  navy  man  and  the  yacht  club  com- 
modore, and  she  had  inherited  his  love  for  the  sea. 
She  had  watched  the  finish  of  the  race  from  the  flag- 
boat,  and  had  seen  Red  Rose  reel  past,  horribly  pressed 
by  sail.  Fine  skill  and  steady  nerve  were  needed  to 
bring  the  old  boat  in  first. 

Perhaps  this  was  not  important,  but  it  was  typical 
of  Harry  Wyndham;  he  ran  risks  and  laughed.  It 
was  bracing  to  know  him  and  flattering  to  feel  that  he 
was  drawn  to  her.  Yet  Flora  had  some  doubts ;  after 
all,  she  had  not  known  Wyndham  long  and  he  had 


MOONLIGHT  AND  GLAMOUR        17 

drawbacks.  He  was  poor,  some  of  her  friends  dis- 
trusted him,  and  Chisholm  had  given  hints  —  he  ap- 
proved Jim  Elliot,  and  Flora  thought  Jim  loved  her. 
When  Wyndham  was  away  she  hesitated  and  won- 
dered whether  she  was  rash;  when  he  was  near  she 
thrilled  and  caution  vanished.  Presently  she  roused 
herself  and  began  to  talk. 

Wyndham  got  a  hint  of  strain  and  his  heart  beat. 
He  imagined  Flora  was  vaguely  alarmed  by  his  power 
to  move  her,  but  she  did  not  go  away.  Although  her 
fresh  beauty  had  first  attracted  him,  he  soon  saw  she 
had  qualities  that  strengthened  her  charm;  she  was 
proud,  with  a  clean  pride,  honest,  and  plucky.  All 
the  same,  he  was  poor;  his  people  were  known  for  their 
romantic  extravagance  and  a  touch  of  moral  laxity. 
The  business  of  which  he  had  recently  taken  control 
languished  and  had  not  been  very  scrupulously  carried 
on.  Yet  Wyndham  was  not  daunted,  and  his  love  for 
the  girl  was  sincere. 

"  Things  will  look  different  to-morrow  when  the 
boats  have  gone  and  the  little  town  goes  to  sleep 
again,"  he  said.  "  I  feel  doleful.  The  holiday's 
nearly  over  and  soon  after  sunrise  there'll  be  nothing 
left  but  a  happy  memory." 

"  Then  you  make  an  early  start  ?  " 

"At  half  ebb;  three  or  four  o'clock.  One  wishes 
the  night  would  last.  Nights  like  this  are  not  nu- 
merous." 

"  You  ought  to  be  satisfied.     You  won  the  cup." 

"  I  meant  to  win.  For  one  thing,  you  wished  me 
luck." 

Flora  blushed  and  wondered  whether  he  could  see 


i8  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

her  face.  "  After  all,  that  was  not  much  help,"  she 
said.  "  My  wishing  you  luck  wouldn't  alter  the  wind 
and  tide." 

"  It  gave  me  an  object  and  a  stimulus.  We  are  a 
curious  lot  and  much  depends  on  our  mood.  When 
one's  braced  enough,  obstacles  don't  count.  One  runs 
risks  and  wins." 

Flora  was  fastidious  and  got  a  faint  jar.  Yet  she 
knew  he  was  not  a  boaster;  he  did  what  he  said.  Be- 
sides, she  was  flattered. 

"  You  are  stopping  for  a  few  days,  with  the  Com- 
modore ?  "  he  resumed. 

Flora  said  she  was  and  he  frowned.  "  I  must  go. 
I  ought  not  to  have  taken  the  holiday,  but  the  tempta- 
tion was  strong.  Now  I  must  make  up  for  the  lost 
time." 

"  Your  new  business  keeps  you  occupied  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  claims  all  my  thought,  though  now  and 
then  I  deny  the  claim.  The  sea  pulls  and  a  boat's 
a  fascinating  toy;  but  a  time  comes  when  one  must 
put  one's  toys  away." 

"  For  all  that,  you  came  to  the  regattas  and  won 
the  cup." 

\Yyndham  smiled  and,  for  the  moon  was  bright, 
Flora  noted  the  reckless  sparkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  know  why  I  came  and  why  I  won  the  cup," 
he  said.  "  Perhaps  I'm  vain,  but  I  wanted  you  to 
see  I  could  beat  the  others  whose  toys  are  all  that 
occupy  them.  I  have  not  their  luck,  and  my  object 
for  coming  drives  me  back  to  town.  If  I'm  to  realize 
my  ambitions,  I  have  got  to  work." 

'Then  you  are  ambitious?"  Flora  remarked  and 
looked  away. 


MOONLIGHT  AND  GLAMOUR         19 

"  Very,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  I  know  my  draw- 
backs and  they  must  be  removed.  I  have  inherited  the 
responsibilities  of  an  embarrassed  house.  My  job's 
to  repair  its  credit,  wipe  out  debts,  and  make  Wynd- 
hams'  respected,  as  it  was  respected  once.  A  big  job, 
but  the  ambition  behind  it  gives  me  driving  force." 

He  paused  and  gave  her  a  steady  look.  "  Your 
father's  friends  are  merchants  and  shipowners.  You 
know  I  have  much  to  build  up  and  something  to  live 
down." 

Flora  was  quiet  for  a  moment  or  two.  She  had 
heard  her  friends  talk  about  Wyndhams'  and  it  was 
plain  that  they  thought  the  new  head  of  the  house 
something  of  an  adventurer.  For  all  that,  she  was 
moved.  She  liked  his  frankness  and  his  resolution. 
Looking  about,  she  saw  Marston  and  a  girl  she  knew 
cross  the  lawn,  and  was  tempted  to  join  them.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  glamour  of  the  moonlight  and  spar- 
kling sea,  she  might  have  gone. 

"  I  wish  you  luck  again !  "  she  said  quietly. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  will  carry  me  far!  Farther 
than  you  think,  perhaps,  because  I  am  going  away." 

Flora  moved  abruptly  and  he  saw  she  was  dis- 
turbed. 

"Where  are  you  going?  Will  you  stop  long?" 
she  asked,  and  Wyndham  knew  his  chance  had  come. 
Her  friends  might  blame  him,  but  he  meant  to  use  his 
power. 

"  To  begin  with,  I'm  going  to  West  Africa,  and 
then  to  South  and  Central  America.  We  have  an 
old  schooner  in  the  Guinea  coast  and  I  expect  to  sail 
her  across.  She  can  creep  into  lagoons  and  call  at 
beaches  the  steamers  do  not  touch.  Somebody  must 


20  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

pull  the  house's  vanishing  trade  together  and  I  am 
the  head." 

"  But  it's  a  long  ocean  passage  and  an  unhealthy 
coast,"  Flora  remarked,  with  a  note  of  strain  in  her 
voice.  Altogether  she  tried  to  be  calm. 

"  All  the  same,  I  must  go,  and  go  soon,"  Wyndham 
replied. 

He  stopped  because  he  knew  he  had  said  enough, 
and  Flora  pondered.  She  would  miss  him  much  and 
his  going  forced  her  to  front  a  crisis  she  would  sooner 
have  put  off.  She  knew  he  loved  her  and  he  had  a 
strange  fascination;  he  stood  for  romance  and  ad- 
venture, but  she  was  fastidiously  honest  and  now  and 
then  he  jarred.  She  felt  vaguely  that  there  was  some- 
thing about  him  she  did  not  like. 

In  the  meantime,  Marston  and  his  companion  came 
by  again.  The  girl  was  a  friend  of  Flora's,  but  she 
passed  without  a  glance  and  Flora  knew  she  disap- 
proved. Somehow  she  wished  her  lover  was  like  Bob 
Marston.  Bob  had  no  fascination ;  indeed,  he  was 
rather  dull,  but  he  was  frank  and  honest  and  one 
trusted  him.  She  knew  she  ought  to  join  him  and 
Mabel ;  there  was  danger  in  stopping,  but  she  did  not 
go.  Harry  would  sail  at  daybreak  and  she  would  be 
lonely  afterwards. 

Marston  and  the  girl  went  on,  the  music  stopped, 
and  Flora  heard  the  drowsy  splash  of  the  tide.  The 
moonlight  sparkled  on  the  strait  and  she  felt  a  strange 
longing  to  be  rash.  One  missed  much  unless  one  had 
pluck.  Then  Wyndham  put  his  hand  on  her  arm  and 
gave  her  a  long  ardent  look. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  he  said.     "  I  must  go.     For 


MOONLIGHT  AND  GLAMOUR        21 

your  sake,  I  must  try  to  mend  my  damaged  inheri- 
tance. Will  you  marry  me  when  I  come  back?  " 

Flora  hesitated  until  he  put  his  arm  round  her 
and  her  doubts  vanished.  Romance  conquered  and 
passion  swept  her  away.  She  yielded  when  he  drew 
her  to  him,  and  gave  back  his  kiss.  Then  he  let  her  go 
as  people  came  towards  them  and  they  crossed  the 
lawn. 

"  My  dear !  "  he  said  triumphantly.  "  I  can  con- 
quer all  my  difficulties  now  and  make  your  friends 
approve.  You  have  given  me  a  power  I  never  had ; 
I  feel  I  can't  be  stopped." 

His  eyes  were  very  bright  and  he  lifted  his  head. 
He  looked  unconquerable  and  his  confidence  was  flat- 
tering. Flora's  doubts  had  gone.  He  was  her  ac- 
knowledged lover  and  she  was  very  staunch. 

"  I  must  see  your  father  when  he  gets  back  to  town," 
Wyndham  said  presently.  "  The  committee  will  keep 
him  until  too  late  to-night." 

"  Yes,"  said  Flora  with  faint  misgivings,  "  you  must 
see  him  soon." 

Wyndham's  eyes  twinkled.  "  It's  possible  he  will 
get  a  jolt.  I'll  own  I  was  half  afraid;  but  I  fear 
nothing  now." 

"  He  loves  me,"  Flora  answered  with  a  quiet  look, 
and  Wyndham  said  nothing,  but  pressed  her  arm. 

They  left  the  castle  grounds  for  the  quiet  beach, 
and  in  the  meantime  Mabel  Hilliard  and  Marston 
leaned  against  the  rails  on  the  pier.  For  a  time  the 
girl  watched  the  water  foam  among  the  pillars  and 
then  looked  up. 

"  Why  didn't  you  speak  to  Wyndham  ?  "  she  asked. 


22  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Marston  smiled.  "I  think  the  reason  was  plain; 
Harry  didn't  want  us.  Why  didn't  you  speak  to 
Flora?" 

Mabel  made  a  sign  of  impatience.  "  I  wanted  to, 
but  this  would  have  been  different.  Flora  wouldn't 
have  suspected  you  were  meddling." 

"  I  see,"  said  Marston.  "  I'm  known  to  be  dull ; 
but  I'm  not  so  dull  that  I  miss  your  meaning.  Well, 
you  know  Harry  Wyndham's  my  friend." 

They  were  lovers  who  used  no  reserve,  and  Mabel 
did  not  hesitate. 

"  Flora's  my  friend,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  always 
trust  Wyndham?  " 

"  If  I  didn't  trust  him,  he  wouldn't  be  my  friend." 

"  In  some  ways,  you're  very  nice,  Bob.  But  I'm 
afraid.  Flora's  attracted  by  Wyndham.  I  wish  she 
were  not." 

"Why?     Don't  you  like  Harry?" 

"  It's  rather  that  I  love  Flora.  She's  sincere  and 
proud.  She's  fastidious ;  I  think  I  mean  she's  scrupu- 
lously honorable." 

"Then  you  imply  that  Harry  is  not?"  Marston 
asked,  with  a  touch  of  sternness. 

"  No,  I  don't  altogether  imply  this ;  but  I  feel  he 
is  not  the  man  for  Flora." 

"  Well,"  said  Marston  quietly,  "  I  have  known 
Harry  long.  He's  clever  and  generous;  he  has  pluck 
and  when  strain  comes  is  his  best.  I  know  what  some 
folks  think  about  him,  and  Harry  knows  his  handicap. 
The  Wyndhams  were  rather  a  wild  lot,  the  family 
business  was  drifting  on  the  rocks,  and  the  character 
of  its  recent  head  was  not  good.  All  this  is  a  load  for 


MOONLIGHT  AND  GLAMOUR         23 

Harry,  but  he'll  run  straight,  and  I  feel  my  job  is  to 
help  him  out." 

Mabel  was  not  much  comforted,  but  she  gave  him 
a  smile. 

"If  he  is  going  to  marry  Flora,  I  want  you  to  help 
him,"  she  replied. 

They  went  off  and  some  time  afterwards  Wyndham 
came  along  the  pier.  The  fireworks  were  over  and 
the  crowd  had  gone,  but  a  group  of  men  stood  about 
some  steps  that  led  to  a  narrow  stage  where  the  yachts' 
boats  were  moored.  The  tide  ran  fast,  foaming 
against  the  iron  pillars,  but  the  promenade  above  threw 
a  dark  shadow  on  the  water.  Wyndham  stopped  at 
the  steps  and  tried  to  see  if  Red  Rose's  dinghy  was 
tied  among  the  rest.  It  was  too  dark;  all  he  could 
distinguish  was  a  row  of  boats  that  swung  about. 
Then  young  Chisholm  pushed  past. 

"  The  weed  on  the  steps  is  slippery  and  I'm  not 
going  down.  A  yachtsman  jumps  into  a  punt,"  he 
said. 

A  yacht's  punt  is  small  and  generally  unstable,  and 
to  jump  on  board  needs  skill.  Marston  came  up  and 
seized  Chisholm's  shoulder. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Jack!"  he  said.  "It's  six  or 
seven  feet.  If  you  don't  capsize  her,  you'll  go  through 
the  bottom." 

"  Think  I  can't  jump  six  feet?"  the  lad  exclaimed, 
and  Wyndham  imagined  he  had  drunk  some  wine  at 
the  committee  supper.  "  Anyhow,  I'll  try." 

He  shook  off  Marston's  hand  and  leaped.  His 
dark  figure  vanished  and  there  was  a  splash  below. 
Marston  and  the  others  climbed  down  the  steps,  but 


24  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Wynclham  jumped.  He  went  under  water  and  knew 
the  risk  he  ran  when  he  came  up ;  he  had  known  when 
he  made  the  plunge.  The  tide  swept  him  past  the 
boats  and  broke  angrily  among  the  ironwork.  One 
might  get  entangled  and  pulled  down,  and  if  a  punt 
came  to  help,  she  would  probably  capsize  when  the  cur- 
rent drove  her  against  a  brace. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  drifted,  and  then  saw 
something  dark  wash  about  in  a  wedge  of  foam.  It 
was  Chisholm,  clinging  to  an  iron  and  trying  to  keep 
his  head  above  water. 

"Let  go!  I'll  pick  you  up  on  the  other  side," 
shouted  Wyndham,  and  the  current  swept  them  under 
a  beam. 

Then  he  grasped  the  lad's  shoulder  and  steered  him 
between  two  pillars.  The  splash  of  oars  indicated  that 
a  boat  was  pulling  round  the  pier.  Wyndham's  arm 
struck  a  cross-bar  and  next  moment  something  caught 
his  leg,  but  he  went  clear  and,  dragging  Chisholm  with 
him,  drifted  into  the  moonlight.  He  felt  safe  now; 
all  they  need  do  was  to  wait  until  the  boat  arrived. 
They  were  a  hundred  yards  from  the  pier  when  she 
came  up  and  Marston  leaned  over  the  bow. 

"  Let  me  have  him,"  he  said.  "  Back  her  and  sit 
steady,  Tom." 

Wyndham  knew  he  could  trust  Bob  and  let  Chisholm 
go.  Marston  dragged  him  on  board  and  then  bal- 
anced the  boat  while  Wyndham  lifted  himself  over  the 
stern.  Chisholm  did  not  seem  much  the  worse,  for  he 
began  to  squeeze  the  water  from  his  clothes  and 
laughed. 

"  Trouble  was,  the  punt  I  jumped  for  wasn't  there," 
he  said.  "  Imagine  I  owe  you  something,  Wyndham. 


MOONLIGHT  AND  GLAMOUR         25 

The  other  fellows  couldn't  have  got  me  while  I  stuck 
to  the  brace,  and  if  I'd  let  go,  I'd  have  gone  under  the 
irons." 

"That's  all  right!"  Wyndham  remarked. 
"  You'll  look  before  you  jump  another  time." 

They  put  Chisholm  on  board  a  steam  yacht  and 
when  they  reached  Red  Rose  Marston  said,  "  It  was 
lucky  for  Jack  you  were  about.  We  couldn't  have 
got  in  between  the  braces  with  the  punt." 

"  It  was  a  stroke  of  luck  for  both  of  us,"  Wyndham 
replied  with  a  laugh. 


CHAPTER  III 
CHIS HOLM'S  PERSUASION 

COMMODORE  CHISHOLM  sat  in  his  smoking- 
room  and  knitted  his  brows  while  Wyndham 
talked.  The  room  was  small  and  plainly  furnished 
and  the  books  on  the  shelves  were  all  about  the  sea; 
narratives  of  old  explorers'  voyages,  works  on  naval 
tactics,  and  yacht  registers.  Wyndham  spoke  fast 
and  with  marked  eagerness,  and  when  he  was  moved 
he  had  a  strange  power  of  persuasion,  but  now  and 
then  Chisholm  frowned.  Although  he  knew  he  must 
give  way,  he  hesitated.  There  was  something  roman- 
tic and,  so  to  speak,  exotic,  about  Wyndham,  and 
Chisholm  liked  sober  English  calm. 

For  all  that,  he  loved  his  daughter,  whom  he  had 
long  indulged,  and  knew  her  mind.  He  had  only  two 
children,  Jack  and  Flora,  and  his  wife  was  dead. 
Chisholm  had  loved  her  well  and  married  rather  late. 
It  was  for  her  sake  and  because  his  pay  was  small  he 
left  the  navy  and  took  a  post  in  the  service  of  a  public 
navigation  board.  Although  he  held  his  navy  rank  he 
was  generally  given  his  yachting  title,  the  "  Com- 
modore.'' He  was  scrupulously  just,  frank,  and 
rather  slow;  a  man  at  whom  his  friends  sometimes 
smiled  but  always  trusted.  Now  he  frankly  wished 
his  daughter  had  chosen  another  lover.  It  was  not 
that  he  disliked  the  fellow ;  he  knew  his  family  history 

26 


CHISHOLM'S  PERSUASION  27 

and    what    business    men    thought    about    Wyndham 
Brothers.     Still,  it  looked  as  if  Flora  was  satisfied. 

"  You  ask  me  rather  a  hard  thing,"  he  remarked 
ivhen  Wyndham  stopped.  "  However,  if  Flora  agrees, 
[  suppose  I  cannot  refuse.  It's  obvious  I  owe  you 
much." 

'  You  mean  my  pulling  Jack  out  of  the  water?  I 
ion't  want  to  urge  this.  It  was  really  nothing,  and 
:he  lad  swims  well." 

'  There  is  some  risk  in  trying  to  swim  through  a 
let  of  iron  rods  when  a  four-knot  current  runs  through 
:he  holes:  as  I  expect  you  knew  when  you  plunged. 
Besides,  it's  plain  Jack  was  excited  and  a  little  off  his 
Balance.  The  others  went  for  a  punt ;  you  saw  the  real 
langer  and  steered  him  through." 

Wyndham  imagined  Chisholm  was  struggling  with 
lis  prejudices  and  trying  to  be  just.  He  had  a  gen- 
:rous  vein  and  the  Commodore's  honesty  moved  him. 

"  My  strongest  argument  is  that  I  love  Flora,"  he 
leclared. 

"  It  counts  for  much,"  said  Chisholm,  who  felt  his 
lincerity.  "  Still,  there  are  other  matters  one  must 
alk  about." 

"That  is  so,  sir,"  Wyndham  agreed.  "Well,  I 
:now  I'm  asking  much  and  I'm  handicapped.  I'm 
>oor;  when  I  took  the  family  business  I  took  a  load 
if  debt  and  some  distrust.  We're  not  a  conventional 
ot;  we  have  long  been  reckless  and  adventurous." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  then,  while  Chisholm 
.pproved  his  frankness,  went  on :  "  All  the  same,  I'm 
roung;  the  house's  fortunes  can  be  mended  and  its 
redit  made  good,  and  I  have  an  object  for  putting 
ny  heart  into  the  job.  It  will  be  something  of  a  strug- 


28  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

gle,  sir,  but  I've  got  a  fighting  chance,  and  with  Flora's 
help  I  feel  I'm  going  to  win." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  mend  the  house's  for- 
tunes?" Chisholm  asked. 

"  For  a  start,  I've  planned  to  visit  our  factories 
abroad,  study  our  trade  on  the  spot,  and  turn  out 
incompetent  agents.  I'll  begin  in  West  Africa  and 
then  cross  to  the  Caribbean.  I  expect  to  use  our 
trading  schooner." 

Chisholm  looked  up,  rather  quickly,  and  Wyndham 
saw  his  interest  was  roused.  When  one  talked  about 
boats  the  Commodore  was  keen,  and  Wyndham's  voy- 
age was,  so  to  speak,  safe  ground. 

"  It's  a  long  run,"  Chisholm  remarked. 

"  The  slavers'  road,  sir,"  said  Wyndham,  who 
meant  to  lead  him  on.  "  A  slow  beat  against  the 
Guinea  current  until  one  clears  the  windward  ports 
and  works  up  to  the  Pambier;  and  then  a  fast  reach 
across  open  water  in  the  North-East  Trades.  The 
early  adventurers  used  smaller  boats  than  mine." 

"  They  pushed  off  from  the  Azores  and  Canaries, 
north  of  your  track,  and  carried  the  North-Easter 
farther  across.  If  you  get  to  leeward,  you'll  strike 
the  equatorial  calms.  But  what  about  your  boat?" 

"  She's  an  old  ninety-ton  yacht,  the  Columbine,  and 
was  rather  famous  once." 

"  Columbine? "  said  Chisholm,  who  took  down  a 
yacht  register.  "  Here  she  is !  Good  builders,  men 
who  stuck  to  oak  and  teak.  But  she's  thirty  years 
old." 

Wyndham  smiled.  The  Commodore  was  getting 
keen ;  he  was  as  enthusiastic  as  a  boy  when  he  talked 
about  the  sea. 


CHISHOLM'S  PERSUASION  29 

"  I  understand  she's  pretty  sound  and  I  must  use  the 
tools  I've  got.  Her  draught  is  light.  We  can  cross 
river  bars  and  get  into  shallow  lagoons.  Our  fac- 
tories stand  by  the  mangrove  creeks  the  slavers 
haunted.  Wyndhams'  were  slavers  long  since." 

"  An  old  house !  "  said  Chisholm.  "  Your  folks 
were  pioneers.  There's  something  in  a  long  record; 
habits  and  characteristics  go  with  the  blood  of  an  old 
stock." 

"  Sometimes  that  has  drawbacks,  sir,"  Wyndham 
remarked. 

Chisholm  did  not  follow  him  and  Wyndham  saw  he 
was  musing  about  the  romance  of  the  sea. 

"  But  what  about  your  crew  ?  "  the  Commodore 
asked. 

"  I  expect  to  keep  the  Liberian  Krooboys  now  on 
board.  A  half -tamed,  reckless  lot,  but  every  Kroo- 
boy's  a  sailor." 

"  I  know;  fine  stuff,  but  needs  management,"  Chis- 
holm agreed.  "  I  was  on  patrol  along  the  Guinea 
coast  —  a  long  time  since.  Blazing  sun,  roaring  bars, 
steaming  mangrove  swamps,  and  sickness.  For  all 
that,  there's  a  fascination  you  get  nowhere  else,  unless 
it's  on  the  Caribbean  and  coast  of  Brazil.  The  world's 
alike  on  the  lines  of  latitude  and  man's  morals  follow 
the  parallels."  He  paused  with  a  dreamy  look  and 
then  resumed :  "  I'm  getting  old  and  have  my  duty ; 
but  if  I  could,  I'd  go  with  you." 

For  a  time  they  talked  about  the  voyage,  and  then, 
with  a  half -embarrassed  smile,  Chisholm  pulled  him- 
self up.  "  I'm  forgetting.  There  are  things  I  ought 
to  ask " 

Wyndham  told  him  how  much  money  he  had,  and 


30  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

when  Chisholm  looked  thoughtful,  went  on :  "I  don't 
expect  your  consent  to  our  marrying  yet.  It's  not 
long  since  I  took  control  of  the  business  and  much  de- 
pends on  the  arrangements  I  hope  to  make  at  our  fac- 
tories. Things  will  look  better  when  I  come  back." 

"  It's  possible.     But  you  do  not  know." 

"  I  really  do  know,  sir,"  Wyndham  declared. 
"  You  can  make  my  ability  to  put  things  straight 
a  stipulation,  if  you  like.  I'm  willing  to  be  tested. 
I  feel  I  can't  fail." 

Chisholm  studied  him  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Wyndham's  eyes  sparkled;  he  looked  strangely  force- 
ful and  resolute,  and  Chisholm  thought  he  under- 
stood why  Flora  had  been  carried  away.  The  fellow 
was  handsome  and  romantic.  Besides,  he  was  a  fine 
sailor,  and  Chisholm  knew  his  pluck. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  We'll  let  it  go  like  that. 
The  wedding  must  wait  until  you  come  back,  but  I 
wish  you  luck." 

Wyndham  thanked  him  and  when  he  went  off  Chis- 
holm pondered.  Perhaps  he  had  agreed  rather 
weakly ;  he  had  meant  to  be  firmer,  but  Wyndham  had 
led  him  to  talk  about  his  voyage.  Anyhow,  the  fellow 
had  charm.  It  was  hard  to  refuse  him  and  Chisholm 
had  seen  he  was  sincere.  By  and  by  he  got  up  and 
lighted  his  pipe.  The  thing  was  done  with  and  he 
had  given  his  consent.  Somehow  he  had  been  per- 
suaded and  after  all  if  Flora  was  satisfied 

Chisholm  had  not  stipulated  that  nobody  should  be 
told  and  Flora's  friends  had  much  to  talk  about. 
Mabel  Milliard  was  disturbed,  and  when  Marston  came 
to  her  mother's  house  one  evening  took  him  to  the 
garden. 


CHISHOLM'S  PERSUASION  31 

"  Bob,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  you  know  Wyndham 
is  going  to  marry  Flora?  " 

"  I  do  know,"  said  Marston.  "  In  fact,  I  approve. 
Flora  is  nearly  the  nicest  girl  I've  met.  However,  I 
imagine  you're  not  satisfied." 

"  I  am  not.  Flora  has  been  my  friend  since  we 
\vere  children.  I  am  very  fond  of  her  and  think  she 
is  quite  the  nicest  girl  you  have  met." 

"Bar  one!"  Marston  interposed. 

Mabel  smiled.  "  Oh,  well.  I  expect  your  judg- 
ment's biased,  Bob.  But  let  me  go  on,  although  it's 
rather  awkward  ground.  Wyndham  has  charm,  he's 
picturesque:  something  of  the  gentleman-adventurer 
type.  I  think  that's  what  I  mean." 

"  But  you  don't  like  the  type  ?  I  thought  it  ap- 
pealed to  a  girl's  imagination.  Anyhow,  although 
we're  getting  conventionalized,  there  are  gentlemen- 
adventurers  and  we  have  jobs  for  them  yet." 

"  I  am  not  romantic,"  Mabel  replied,  with  a  twin- 
kling glance.  "  I  like  sober  men,  even  if  they're  some- 
times slow:  men  who  keep  a  promise  but  don't  protest 
much.  One  doesn't  want  to  be  dazzled.  A  steady 
light  is  enough." 

Marston  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two.  Mabel's 
trust  moved  him  and  he  was  half  embarrassed.  Then 
he  said :  "  There's  a  remark  of  yours  I  can't  let  go. 
No  ground  you  think  you  ought  to  venture  on  is  awk- 
ward to  us.  Very  well.  You  don't  approve  Harry's 
marrying  Flora,  but  what  line  d'you  want  me  to  take? 
I  can't  give  him  up  and  you're  not  going  to  give  up 
yor.r  friend.  It  wouldn't  be  like  you." 

"  I  want  you  to  stick  to  him  closer  than  before. 
Flora  and  he  may  need  us  both.  One  feels  that 


32 

Wyndham's  unstable,  and  you  make  good  ballast, 
Bob." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I'm  heavy  enough  and  you  have 
given  me  an  easy  job.  It's  curious,  but  not  long 
since  I  told  Harry  I'd  see  him  out  if  he  wanted  help 
and  yesterday  he  hinted  he'd  like  a  partner  for  his 
voyage  South.  In  a  way,  of  course,  I  don't  want 
to  go." 

Mabel  hid  her  disturbance  and  mused.  She  was 
modern  and  sometimes  frivolous,  but  she  was  very 
staunch  and  loved  two  people  well.  She  did  not  want 
Bob  to  go  and  yet  she  thought  he  ought.  Mabel  had 
an  instinctive  distrust  for  Wyndham,  although  she 
liked  him.  She  felt  that  with  his  temperament  he 
would  run  risks  in  the  South  and  he  must  be  protected, 
for  Flora's  sake.  Flora  had  promised  to  marry 
Wvndham  and  Mabel  knew  she  would  keep  her  word. 
Well,  sober,  honest  Bob,  who  was  really  cleverer  than 
people  thought,  was  the  man  to  take  care  of  him. 

"If  Wyndham  urges  it,  I  must  let  you  go,"  she 
said. 

Marston  gave  her  a   steady  glance,   and   nodded. 

"  I  understand.  Of  course,  I  think  your  notion's 
ridiculous.  Harry  doesn't  need  a  fellow  like  me,  but 
you  mean  well.  Although,  in  one  way,  I'd  frankly 
like  the  trip,  in  another  I'd  much  sooner  stay." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mabel.     "  You're  a  dear,  Bob." 

Then  she  got  up,  smiling,  and  advanced  to  meet 
Chisholm  and  Flora,  who  came  up  the  garden  path. 

Wyndham  urged  Marston  to  go  with  him,  and  a 
week  or  two  afterwards  Flora  and  Mabel  stood  on 
the  deck  of  a  paddle  tug  crossing  a  busy  river  mouth. 
The  day  was  dull  and  a  haze  of  smoke  from  two  towns 


CHISHOLM'S  PERSUASION  33 

hung  about  the  long  rows  of  warehouses  and  massive 
river  walls.  Out  in  the  stream,  a  small  steamer  with 
a  black  funnel  and  a  row  of  white  deckhouses  moved 
seawards  with  the  tide.  The  figures  grouped  along 
her  rail  got  indistinct,  but  Flora's  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
two  that  stood  away  from  the  rest,  until  they  faded. 
Then  the  African  boat  vanished  behind  the  towering 
hull  of  an  anchored  liner. 

Flora  turned  and  lowered  her  veil,  for  her  eyes 
were  wet.  Chisholm  was  on  board  the  tug,  but  he 
was  some  distance  off.  Mabel  was  near,  and  her 
look  was  strained. 

"  In  a  way,  it's  only  a  long  yachting  trip,"  the 
latter  remarked. 

"  Xo,"  said  Flora ;  "  we  both  know  it  is  not.  It's 
a  rash  adventure;  Harry  is  going  South,  as  his  people 
all  have  gone,  and  some  did  not  come  back." 

"Of  course  he'll  come  back!  Travel's  safe  and 
easy  now.  They'll  have  no  adventures,  except  per- 
haps, at  sea." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  sea,"  Flora  said  in  a  quiet 
voice.  "  It's  the  tropic  coast ;  the  big  muddy  rivers 
that  get  lost  in  the  forest,  and  the  dark  lagoons  among 
the  mangrove  swamps.  The  country's  insidious;  its 
influence  is  strong." 

Mnbel  forced  a  smile.  She  thought  Flora  was  not 
disturbed  about  the  physical  dangers,  such  as  fever  and 
shipwreck.  It  looked  as  if  she  knew  her  lover. 

"  Anyhow,  Bob  is  going  with  Harry,  and  Bob  is 
not  romantic,"  she  remarked.  "  In  fact,  he's  the 
steadiest,  most  matter-of-fact  man  I  know.  Nothing 
excites  Bob  much.  It's  very  hard  to  carry  him 
away." 


34  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Flora  gave  her  a  grateful  look.  Since  she  must  not 
criticize  Harry,  they  could  not  be  altogether  frank, 
but  she  saw  Mabel  understood.  The  men  they  loved 
had  very  different  temperaments,  and  Bob  would  be 
a  useful  counterbalance.  He  was  sober  and  practical : 
one  could  trust  him.  It  was  hard  to  own  that,  in  a 
sense,  she  could  not  trust  Harry.  He  was  rash,  and 
Flora  did  not  like  the  stories  about  the  Wyndhams  who 
had  not  come  back.  However,  Bob  was  going,  and 
she  imagined  she  owed  Mabel  much. 

"  I  like  Bob,"  she  said.  "  I  expect  it  cost  you  some- 
thing to  send  him  with  Harry." 

"  He  wanted  to  go." 

Flora  put  her  hand  in  the  other's  arm.  "  But  you 
might  have  stopped  him." 

"  He's  Harry's  friend,"  said  Mabel.  "  I  am  yours. 
After  all,  that  counts  for  something,  but  we  won't  talk 
about  it  now.  Your  promising  to  marry  Harry  has 
drawn  us  closer.  It's  an  extra  tie,  because  all  Bob's 
friends  are  mine." 

The  tug's  whistle  shrieked  as  she  swung  across  the 
tide  to  the  landing  stage  and  Flora  looked  down  the 
river.  In  the  distance,  where  granite  walls  and  ware- 
houses got  small  and  indistinct,  the  African  boat  melted 
into  the  smoke  and  mist.  Flora  felt  strangely  forlorn 
and  half  afraid. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MAN    WHO   VANISHED 

MOONLIGHT  glittered  on  the  West  African 
river  and  it  was  very  hot;  the  air  was  heavy, 
humid,  and  tainted  by  miasmatic  vapors.  Inside  the 
lonely  factory,  moisture  dripped  from  the  beams  and 
the  big  bare  room  that  opened  on  the  veranda  smelt  of 
mildew.  Across  the  river,  tangled  mangroves  loomed 
through  drifting  mist  that  hid  the  banks  of  mud  about 
their  long,  arched  roots.  Wyndham's  schooner, 
Columbine,  rode  in  midstream,  her  tall  masts  and  the 
graceful  sweep  of  her  rail  cutting  black  against  the 
silver  light.  Somebody  on  board  was  singing  a  Kroo 
paddling  song  with  a  strange  monotonous  air.  In  the 
distance  one  heard  the  rumble  of  heavy  surf. 

The  factory  was  old  and  ruinous  and  the  agent's 
hair  was  going  white.  He  sat  opposite  Wyndham,  at 
the  end  of  a  table  about  which  documents  were  scat- 
tered ;  a  cocktail  jug  and  some  glasses  occupied  the  mid- 
dle. Ellams  was  haggard  and  his  skin  was  a  jaundiced 
yellow.  Marston  lounged  in  a  deck  chair,  with  the 
perspiration  running  down  his  face,  and  smoked  a 
cigarette. 

"  I  think  I  have  told  you  all  you  want  to  know,  and 
I'm  willing  to  give  up  my  post."  Ellams  remarked. 
"  Indeed,  I'm  beginning  to  feel  I'm  too  old  for  the 
job.  Few  white  men  have  lived  as  long  in  the  fever 

35 


36  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

swamps ;  as  a  rule  an  agent's  run  was  very  short  when 
I  first  came  out.  We  didn't  bother  about  mosquitoes 
then.  The  tropical-diseases  people  hadn't  discovered 
the  mischievous  habits  of  anopheles." 

"  You  were  here  with  my  uncle,  I  think  ? "  said 
Wyndham. 

"  I  was  with  him  for  a  year  or  two,"  Ellams  an- 
swered, in  a  reminiscent  tone.  "  A  strange  man,  in 
some  ways!  I  expect  it's  long  since  you  saw  him?  " 

"  He  came  to  England  when  I  was  a  boy." 

Ellams  smiled.  "  When  I  saw  you  cross  the  com- 
pound, I  thought  Rupert  Wyndham  had  come  back. 
Wait  a  moment;  I  have  his  portrait." 

He  brought  a  faded  and  mildewed  photograph. 
Wyndham  studied  it,  without  speaking,  and  then  gave 
it  to  Marston,  who  made  a  little  gesture  of  surprise. 
He  imagined  Rupert  Wyndham  was  about  his  com- 
rade's age  when  the  portrait  was  taken,  and  the  like- 
ness was  strange.  There  was  in  both  faces  a  hint  of 
recklessness  and  unrest,  although  the  hint  was  plainer 
in  the  portrait.  It  indicated  that  Rupert  would  ven- 
ture much  and  take  paths  sober  men  did  not  tread. 
Somehow  it  disturbed  Marston. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  he  vanished  in  the  West 
Indies?"  Wyndham  remarked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellams  quietly.  "  I  half  expected 
something  like  this " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Wyndham.  "  Well,  we've  done  with 
business  for  to-night.  Tell  me  about  my  uncle." 

Ellams  drained  his  glass  and  Marston  noted  that 
his  hand  shook.  The  man  had  obviously  suffered 
much  from  ague  and  fever. 

"  Rupert  Wyndham  was  here  before  me,"  Ellams 


THE  MAN  WHO  VANISHED          37 

began.  "  Procter  was  agent  when  he  arrived  and 
Procter  had  got  some  native  habits.  That's  a  risk 
men  who  indulge  their  curiosity  run  in  Africa. 
There's  danger  of  forgetting  one  is  white.  I  imagine 
it  was  unlucky  Rupert  began  with  Procter;  his  was  a 
strange,  adventurous  temperament " 

"  I'm  told  I  have  some  of  Rupert's  characteristics," 
Wyndham  remarked.  "  But  go  on." 

"  When  your  uncle  came  out,  there  was  no  rule 
but  the  negro  headman's.  British  authority  stopped 
a  few  miles  from  the  outpost  stockade,  and  traders 
made  their  own  laws;  they  lived  and  drank  hard. 
In  some  ways,  things  are  not  very  different  yet.  We 
kill  mosquitoes  and  dig  drains,  but  Africa  doesn't 
change. 

"  Well,  Procter  had  gone  the  way  some  white  men 
go,  and  when  he  died  your  uncle  got  a  jar.  Rupert 
had  only  known  England  and  he  was  young,  but 
I  don't  mean  he  was  daunted.  Rather  he  lost  his  bal- 
ance and  started  on  a  line  he  ought  to  have  left  alone. 
Sometimes  he  talked  about  the  thing.  I  suspect  he 
knew  the  Leopards  killed  Procter." 

"  The  Leopards?  "  Marston  interrupted. 

"  The  Ghost  Leopards,  a  secret  society.  In  this 
country,  there  are  a  number,  run  by  the  Ju-ju  priests. 
They're  supposed  to  use  magic,  but  they're  a  power  in 
native  politics  and  have  given  the  British  government 
trouble.  Perhaps  the  Leopards  are  the  strongest. 
The  bushmen  believe  they  can  take  the  form  of  the 
animals,  and  when  they  like  make  themselves  invisible. 
Anyhow,  the  headman  they  don't  approve  seldom  rules 
very  long " 

Ellams  paused  for  a  few  moments  and  resumed: 


38  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  It  was  a  hot  night  when  Rupert  Wyndham  thought 
he  heard  Procter  call.  He  said  his  voice  was  choked 
and  faint.  He  got  up;  he  occupied  the  room  yon- 
der— "  Ellams  indicated  a  door  opposite  and  went 
on :  "  There  was  no  light,  but  the  moon  shone 
through  the  window  behind  us.  Rupert  had  only  been 
awake  a  few  moments  and  heard  nothing  but  the 
faint  cry.  He  ran  out  in  his  pyjamas  and  found 
Procter  on  the  floor.  Procter's  body  was  warm,  but 
when  Wyndham  tried  to  lift  him  he  saw  he  was  dead. 
He  lay  across  the  cracked  board  where  Mr.  Marston 
sits." 

Marston  half-con sciously  pushed  back  his  chair. 
"But  what  indicated  the  Leopards?" 

"  There  were  strange  marks  on  Procter's  throat. 
Wyndham  thought  they  looked  like  the  marks  of 
claws." 

Marston  pondered  while  Ellams  filled  his  glass.  He 
pictured  the  huddled  figure  in  pyjamas  lying  across  the 
rotten  boards,  and  the  marks  on  the  throat.  As  a 
rule  his  nerve  was  good,  but  the  picture  daunted  him 
and  he  did  not  like  his  comrade's  strange,  fixed  look. 
In  a  sense,  the  story  was  ridiculous;  that  is,  it  would 
have  looked  ridiculous  in  England,  but  Africa  was  dif- 
ferent. Theatrical  tragedy  was  not  strange  there,  and 
he  did  not  think  Ellams  had  exaggerated  much. 

"  Well."  said  the  latter,  "  in  the  morning  Wyndham 
found  the  factory  boys  had  gone.  He  was  alone  with 
Procter  and  could  get  no  help:  besides,  he  had  a  dose 
of  fever  and  when  malaria  grips  you,  your  imagination 
works.  He  said  perhaps  the  worst  was  the  quietness 
and  the  buzzing  of  the  flies.  He  dug  a  grave,  but 
could  not  get  Procter  down  the  steps ;  fever  makes  one 


THE  MAN  WHO  VANISHED         39 

very  limp,  you  know.  Well,  he  sat  there  all  day,  keep- 
ing the  flies  off  Procter,  and  in  the  evening  a  Millers' 
launch  came  up  stream." 

"  A  ghastly  day !  "  said  Marston,  but  Wyndham 
signed  to  Ellams. 

"  You  haven't  told  it  all.     Go  on." 

"  I'm  an  old  servant  and  you're  the  head  of  the 
house,"  Ellams  replied  meaningly.  "  Well,  I  think 
that  day  left  a  mark  on  Rupert  Wyndham.  When  I 
arrived  he  was  moody  and  often  brooded,  but  it  looked 
as  if  he  had  a  talent  for  managing  the  bushmen.  They 
seemed  to  understand  him  and  the  business  was  grow- 
ing fast.  He  began  to  go  up  river,  although  I  imagine 
no  other  trader  had  reached  the  native  market  then. 
It  was  good  for  business;  our  oil  was  first  quality  and 
we  got  stuff,  skins  and  sometimes  ivory,  Millers'  and 
the  Association  couldn't  buy.  Besides,  there  were  bits 
of  pottery,  brass,  and  silver  work,  the  Fulah  brought 
across  the  desert.  Wyndham  said  the  patterns  were 
Sarascenic  and  the  stuff  was  hundreds  of  years  old. 
The  house  knew  where  to  sell  the  goods  at  home. 
Once  or  twice  we  got  Aggri  beads." 

"  I  didn't  know  about  that,"  Wyndham  remarked 
and  turned  to  Marston.  "  In  Africa,  Aggri  beads 
are  worth  almost  any  price  you  like  to  ask.  We  can't 
imitate  them  and  don't  know  how  they  are  made.  It's 
very  rare  for  a  negro  headman  to  let  an  Aggri  go." 

Ellams  made  a  sign  of  agreement,  and  gave  Wynd- 
ham an  apologetic  glance.  "  You  see  what  this  im- 
plies?" 

"  I  think  I  see.  My  uncle  was  getting  native  habits ; 
he  was  getting  an  influence " 

"  He  stopped  away  from  the  factory  longer.     Men 


4o  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

with  tattoo  marks  I  didn't  know  came  down  and  talked 
to  him,  and  sometimes  brought  no  trade.  I  thought 
he  ran  risks  and  warned  him,  but  he  laughed.  It  went 
on,  and  we  were  getting  rich  when  the  change  began. 
Our  trade  did  not  fall  off  much,  but  one  felt  a  dif- 
ference   " 

Ellams  paused,  and  looked  thoughtful  when  he  re- 
sumed :  "  I  can't  altogether  make  things  plain :  there 
was  a  feeling  of  insecurity,  and  Wyndham's  mood- 
iness  got  worse.  He  did  not  go  away  so  much,  and 
locked  his  room  door  at  night.  I  think  he  did  not 
sleep  and  took  some  draught ;  not  drugs  white  men  use, 
but  stuff  the  negroes  make.  When  he  did  sleep,  he 
was  strangely  hard  to  rouse.  He  was  cool  and  as 
nearly  fearless  as  any  man  I  knew,  but  he  began  to 
look  haggard  and  start  at  unexpected  sounds.  One 
morning  I  could  not  wake  him  and  went  round  to  the 
veranda  window.  Wyndham  was  fast  asleep  and  a 
gun  lay  across  his  bed.  He  was  a  good  shot  with  a 
pistol,  but  this  was  a  heavv  duck-gun  that  threw  an 
ounce  and  a  quarter  of  shot.  Well,  I  was  getting 
nervy,  and  the  factory  boys  would  not  stop  —  it  looked 
as  if  they  knew  something  was  wrong.  I  began  to 
wonder  how  long  Wyndham  could  keep  it  up." 

The  others  were  quiet  when  Ellams  reached  for  the 
cocktail  jug  and  finding  it  empty  filled  his  pipe.  Mars- 
ton  had  spent  some  weeks  on  the  African  coast  and 
sympathized  with  the  agent.  When  one  had  seen  the 
country  and  breathed  the  foul  miasma  that  saps  the 
white  man's  strength,  one  could  understand  the  strain 
Ellams  talked  about.  It  was  a  daunting  country  and 
the  gloom  of  its  steamy  forests  was  the  shadow  of 
death. 


THE  MAN  WHO  VANISHED         41 

"  After  all,"  said  Ellams,  "  there  was  no  theatrical 
climax.  One  day  a  launch  brought  us  a  cablegram. 
Wyndham  was  wanted  at  home,  the  ebb  tide  was  run- 
ning and  a  mailboat  was  due  to  call  at  Takana  lagoon. 
In  an  hour  Columbine  dropped  down  stream  and  my 
notion  is  it  was  a  relief  to  Wyndham  the  cablegram 
arrived.  If  it  had  not  arrived,  he  would  have  stayed. 
He  was  that  kind  of  man." 

"  Had  you  trouble  afterwards  ?  "  Marston  asked. 

"  I  had  not.  It  was  as  if  a  shadow  had  melted. 
The  strain  had  gone." 

"Then  it  looks  as  if  my  uncle,  alone,  were  threat- 
ened," Wyndham  remarked. 

Ellams  nodded.  "  Yes.  I  think  it  was,  so  to  speak, 
a  personal  thing.  For  all  that,  our  trade  got  slack 
and  has  not  since  touched  the  mark  it  reached  in  your 
uncle's  time.  Well,  I  think  that's  all,  and  perhaps 
I  have  talked  too  much." 

"If  you'll  mix  another  cocktail,  we'll  go  to  bed," 
Wyndham  replied  and  when,  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards, he  went  to  his  room  stopped  at  the  door. 

"  This  is  where  Rupert  Wyndham  slept  with  the 
gun  beside  him,  I  suppose?"  he  said.  "I  wonder 
what  he  dreamed  about !  " 

For  some  time  Marston  did  not  sleep.  As  a  rule, 
he  did  not  indulge  his  imagination,  but  he  had  been 
disturbed  by  the  agent's  tale  and  there  were  strange 
noises.  Some  he  thought  were  made  by  cracking 
boards  and  falling  damp;  others  puzzled  him  and  he 
found  them  daunting  in  the  dark.  They  were  like 
footsteps,  as  if  somebody  stole  about  the  rooms. 
Marston  had  had  enough  of  Africa  and  yet  he  owned 
the  country  had  a  mysterious  charm.  White  men 


42  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

stayed,  knowing  the  risk  they  ran  and  without  much 
hope  of  money  reward,  until  they  died  of  fever  or 
their  minds  got  deranged.  The  latter  happened  now 
and  then.  In  order  to  keep  sane,  one  must  concentrate 
on  one's  business  and  refuse  to  speculate  about  the 
secret  life  of  the  bush.  After  all,  there  was  much  to 
speculate  about 

Marston  pulled  himself  up.  He  was  a  sober  white 
man  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  negro's  fantastic 
superstitions.  Magic  and  witchcraft  were  ridiculous, 
but  in  a  country  where  they  were  a  ruling  force  it 
was  not  easy  to  laugh.  He  thought  Rupert  Wyndham 
had  made  rash  experiments  and  had  dared  too  much, 
and  although  this  was  perhaps  not  important.  Harry 
had  his  uncle's  temperament.  The  trouble  was  there. 
Still  they  would  leave  the  river  soon  and  it  would  be 
a  relief  to  go  to  sea.  The  sea  was  clean  and  bracing. 

Three  or  four  days  afterwards  Columbine  dropped 
flown  stream  on  the  ebb.  A  big  naked  Krooboy  held 
the  wheel,  another  in  the  fore-channels  swung  the  lead 
and  called  the  depth  in  a  musical  voice.  The  white 
factory  got  indistinct  and  melted  into  the  swamps, 
the  puffs  of  wind  were  fresher,  and  Marston  was 
conscious  of  a  keen  satisfaction  as  the  drearv  man- 
groves slipped  astern  and  yellow  sand  and  lines  of 
foam  came  into  view  ahead. 

Wyndham,  smoking  a  cigarette,  leaned  against  the 
rail.  He  wore  white  duck  without  a  crease  and  a  big 
pale-gray  hat.  Marston  thought  he  looked  very 
English,  with  his  keen  blue  eyes,  light  hair,  and  red 
skin,  but  his  gaze  was  contemplative. 

'You're  not  sorry  to  get  away?"  he  presently  re- 


THE  MAN  WHO  VANISHED          43 

marked.     "  I  wonder  whether  Rupert  Wyndham  was." 

"  I  wonder  why  he  stayed,"  said  Marston.  "  Un- 
less, of  course,  he  was  earning  money." 

"  A  plausible  explanation,  but  I'm  not  sure  it's 
good,"  Wyndham  replied  with  a  smile.  "  The  head 
of  our  house  was  often  extravagant  but  never,  I  think, 
a  miser.  We're  not  a  greedy  lot." 

"  You  were  traders ;  the  object  of  trading  is  to  get 
rich." 

"  I  doubt  if  this  was  my  uncle's,  or  some  of  my 
other  ancestors'  object,  I  think  they  valued  money  for 
what  it  would  buy.  Anyhow,  they  seldom  kept  it 
long." 

"  Since  most  of  us  value  money  for  what  it  will 
buy,  I  don't  understand,"  Marston  rejoined. 

"  You  bought  a  country  house,  a  sober  sportsman's 
life,  and  the  liking  of  honest  friends.  Well,  your  in- 
vestments were  sound,  but  there  are  men  of  other 
temperaments  they  mightn't  satisfy.  I  don't  think 
they  would  have  satisfied  Rupert  Wyndham." 

"  Then  what  did  he  expect  to  get  in  the  swamps?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Wyndham,  with  a  curious 
smile.  "  Perhaps  strange  experiences ;  perhaps  knowl- 
edge and  power.  I  imagine  he  knew  he  must  buy 
them  and  was  willing  to  pay." 

"  Power  over  tattooed  bushmen !  "  Marston  ex- 
claimed. "  What  could  they  teach  him  ?  " 

"  Things  we  have  begun  to  experiment  with  and 
their  Ju-ju  men  knew  long  since.  The  white  man 
who  knows  the  meaning  of  their  tattoo  marks  has 
gone  some  distance ;  they're  not  all  tribal  signs.  How- 
ever, I  don't  know  what  Rupert  Wyndham  learned  and 


44  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

it  looks  as  if  I  shall  not  find  out.  Our  object's  very 
matter  of  fact;  to  earn  as  much  money  as  possible." 

"  That  is  so.  I  mean  to  stick  to  it,"  said  Marston 
firmly. 

Wyndham  laughed.  "  I  expect  you  mean  to  see 
I  take  your  line!  Well,  it's  a  good  line.  But  we're 
getting  near  the  bar.  Suppose  you  fetch  the  chart  ?  " 


THE   TORNADO 

THE  night  was  hot  and  nearly  calm,  and  Marston, 
sitting  on  the  cabin  skylight,  languidly  looked 
about.  A  Krooboy  held  the  wheel,  and  his  dark  figure 
cut  against  the  phosphorescent  sea.  Columbine's  bul- 
warks were  low  and  when  she  rolled  the  long,  smooth 
swell  ran  level  with  their  top.  A  dim  glow  came  from 
the  compass  binnacle,  but  the  schooner  was  close-hauled 
and  the  Kroo  steered  by  the  faint  strain  on  the  helm. 
The  wind  was  light  and  baffling  and  Columbine  beat 
against  it  as  she  worked  along  the  coast. 

She  carried  all  her  canvas  and  her  high  gaff-topsail 
swung  rhythmically  across  the  sky,  shutting  out  the 
stars.  Her  dark  mainsail  looked  very  big  and  every 
now  and  then  shook  down  a  shower  of  dew  as  its  slack 
curves  swelled.  A  small  moon  touched  the  tops  of 
the  undulations  with  silver  light,  and  when  the  bows 
went  down  the  foam  that  leaped  about  the  planks  glim- 
mered with  green  and  gold.  Booms  and  blocks  rat- 
tled and  timbers  groaned. 

Alarston  could  not  see  the  land,  which  was  hidden 
by  the  sour,  hot  mist  that  at  sunset  rolls  off  the  African 
coast.  He  did  not  want  to  see  it;  he  hoped  he  had 
done  with  Africa,  but  he  doubted.  Columbine  was  on 
the  track  the  keels  of  the  old  slavers  plowed,  and 
he  felt  that  the  shadow  of  the  dark  country  might 

45 


46  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

follow  him  across  the  sea.  Long  since,  Africa  had 
peopled  South  America  and  the  West  Indies;  Wynd- 
ham's  ancestors  had  helped  in  that.  One  found  man- 
grove swamps,  fever,  and  negro  superstition  on  the 
Caribbean  coast,  and  it  was  significant  that  Rupert 
Wyndham  had  vanished  there.  The  trouble  was 
Harry  had  inherited  something  of  his  uncle's  tem- 
perament. All  the  same,  Marston  had  undertaken  to 
stand  by  him  and  meant  to  do  so. 

The  breeze  got  lighter,  the  wet  canvas  flapped,  and 
Columbine  hardly  made  steerage  way.  She  rolled 
until  her  bulwarks  touched  the  water  and  threw  off 
fiery  foam.  One  could  not  stand  on  her  slanted  deck, 
and  blocks  and  spars  made  a  hideous  din.  In  the  dis- 
tance, the  roar  of  surf  rose  and  fell  with  a  measured 
beat.  Somewhere  in  the  mist  the  big  combers  crashed 
upon  a  hammered  beach.  It  did  not  matter  if  there 
was  wind  or  not ;  the  white  band  of  surf  had  fringed 
the  coast  since  the  world  was  young. 

.  Marston  found  his  watch  dreary.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  do;  nothing,  that  he  could  see,  threatened,  and 
the  scattered  light  clouds  hardly  moved  across  the  sky. 
He  was  filling  his  pipe  when  he  heard  a  step  and  saw 
Wyndham  by  the  wheel.  He  knew  him  by  his  white 
duck;  the  negro  crew  did  not  wear  much  clothes. 

"  Hallo!  "  he  said.     "  My  watch  is  not  up." 

"  I  was  awake,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  Felt  I  ought 
to  get  on  deck.  The  glass  is  falling." 

"  Did  you  feel  you  ought  to  come  after  you  noted 
this?" 

"  Before,"  said  Wyndham,  dryly.  "  I  didn't  know 
the  glass  had  dropped  until  I  got  a  light,  but  it  looks 
as  if  I  might  have  stayed  below.  However,  since  I 


THE  TORNADO  47 

have  turned  out,  we'll  haul  down  the  main-topsail." 

He  gave  an  order  and  two  Krooboys  got  to  work. 
There  was  no  obvious  reason  for  lowering  the  sail, 
but  when  Wyndham  ordered  the  negroes  obeyed.  Al- 
though they  grinned  with  frank  good-humor  when 
Marston  talked  to  them,  he  knew  he  did  not  share 
Wyndham's  authority.  Yet  Harry  was  not  harsh. 

When  the  sail  was  lowered  Wyndham  looked  about. 
Some  of  the  scattered  clouds  had  rolled  together  and 
the  sky  was  black  over  the  land.  One  could  scarcely 
feel  the  light  wind,  but  the  surf  had  got  louder.  Its 
roar  came  out  of  the  dark  as  if  heavy  trains  were  run- 
ning along  the  coast. 

"  It  looks  ridiculous,  particularly  since  I'd  like  to 
edge  her  farther  off  the  beach,  but  I  think  we'll  stow 
the  mainsail  and  fore-staysail,"  Wyndham  remarked. 

Marston  agreed.  Although  he  could  see  no  grounds 
for  shortening  sail,  he  trusted  Wyndham's  judgment, 
and  the  Krooboys  got  to  work  again.  The  ropes,  how- 
ever, were  stiff  and  swollen  with  the  dew,  and  the 
mainsail  came  down  slowly.  The  heavy  folds  of  can- 
vas caught  between  the  topping-lifts;  the  gaff-jaws 
jambed  on  the  mast.  Wyndham  sent  a  man  aloft  to 
sit  upon  and  ride  down  the  spar,  but  this  did  not  help 
much,  and  the  boom  along  the  foot  of  the  sail  lurched 
with  violent  jerks.  Blocks  banged  and  loose  ropes 
whipped  across  the  deck.  The  sweat  ran  down  Mars- 
ton's  face ;  he  wanted  to  finish  the  job.  For  one  thing, 
Columbine  was  unmanageable  while  the  half-lowered 
canvas  flapped  about. 

Stopping  a  moment  for  breath,  he  glanced  over  the 
rail.  The  long  swell  sparkled  with  small  points  of 
light  that  coalesced  in  sheets  of  green  flame  when 


48  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  undulations  broke  against  the  schooner's  side. 
The  deck  was  spangled  with  luminous  patches  by  the 
splashes  and  the  wake  that  trailed  astern  was  bright. 
Columbine  stole  through  the  water  although  the  wind 
had  nearly  gone.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  bring 
her  head-to  when  they  shortened  sail. 

Then  the  helmsman  shouted  and  Marston  felt  one 
side  of  his  face  and  body  cool.  The  loose  canvas 
flapped  noisily.  Its  folds  shook  out  and  swelled,  and 
Marston  seized  a  rope.  His  skin  prickled;  he  felt  a 
strange  tension  and  a  feverish  desire  to  drag  down  the 
sticking  gaff.  A  few  moments  afterwards,  something 
flickered  behind  the  sail  and  a  peal  of  thunder  drowned 
the  noise  on  board.  When  it  died  away,  rolling  hull, 
slanted  masts,  and  the  figures  of  the  men  stood  out, 
wonderfully  sharp,  against  a  dazzling  blaze  that  van- 
ished and  left  bewildering  dark.  The  next  peal  of 
thunder  deafened  Marston,  who  thought  Wyndham 
shouted  but  heard  no  words.  This  did  not  matter,  be- 
cause he  knew  they  must  secure  the  sail  before  the  tor- 
nado broke,  and  he  pulled  at  the  downhaul.  He  could 
not  hear  the  wind  for  the  thunder,  but  it  had  begun  to 
'blow. 

The  sail  swelled  between  the  confining  ropes,  there 
was  a  noise  on  one  side  of  the  yacht,  water  foamed 
along  the  planks,  and  she  began  to  swing.  It  looked 
as  if  the  steersman  were  putting  up  the  helm.  The 
peak  of  the  gaff  was  nearly  down;  with  another  good 
pull  they  could  seize  it  and  lash  it  to  the  boom.  Then 
a  dazzling  flash  touched  the  deck.  Marston  saw 
Wyndham  run  aft  and  push  the  Kroo  from  the  wheel, 
but  this  was  the  last  he  saw  clearly  for  sometime.  He 
imagined  the  fellow  had  meant  to  run  the  yacht  off 


THE  TORNADO  49 

before  the  squall;  one  could  ease  the  strain  of  a  sud- 
den blast  like  that,  but  if  the  squall  lasted,  they  could 
not  shorten  sail  while  she  was  before  the  wind.  Now 
she  was  coming  round.  Wyndham  had  put  the  helm 
down.  It  looked  as  if  he  were  too  late. 

The  tornado  broke  upon  her  side  and  she  went  over 
until  her  lee  rail  was  in  the  sea.  There  was  a  noise 
like  a  thunder-clap  forward  as  a  sail  blew  away; 
Marston  thought  it  was  the  jib.  He  could  see  nothing. 
It  had  got  impenetrably  dark,  but  he  had  a  vague 
notion  that  water  rushed  along  the  deck  and  the  main- 
sail had  broken  loose  and  blown  out  between  the  ropes. 
Unless  they  could  master  it,  the  mast  would  go.  He 
heard  another  report  forward  and  thought  somebody 
had  loosed  the  staysail  halyards  and  the  sail  had  blown 
to  rags.  Although  his  eyes  were  useless,  he  knew 
what  was  going  on. 

But  they  must  secure  the  main  gaff,  and  clutching 
at  the  boom  above  his  head,  he  swung  himself  up 
and  worked  along  to  its  outer  end,  which  stretched 
over  the  stern.  A  footrope  ran  below  the  spar;  one 
could  balance  oneself  by  its  help  and  he  vaguely  dis- 
tinguished somebody  close  by.  It  was,  no  doubt, 
Wyndham,  because  his  clothes  looked  white.  There 
was  no  use  in  shouting.  The  uproar  drowned  one's 
voice;  besides,  their  job  was  plain.  They  must  get  a 
rope  round  the  end  of  the  gaff  and  lash  it  fast. 

Marston's  waist  was  on  the  boom;  his  feet  stuck  out 
behind  him,  braced  against  the  rope.  In  front  there 
was  a  dark  gulf.  This  was,  no  doubt,  the  hollow  of 
the  sail,  and  the  indistinct  slanting  line  above  was  the 
gaff.  He  threw  a  rope  across  the  latter,  but  the  end 
did  not  drop,  so  that  he  could  seize  it  under  the  sail; 


50  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  wind  blew  it  out,  straight  and  tight.  He  tried 
again,  farther  aft,  jostling  against  the  figure  that 
looked  faintly  white,  and  leaning  down  across  the 
boom,  caught  the  end  of  the  rope.  The  other  man 
helped  him  and  when  they  had  got  a  loop  round  the 
end  of  the  gaff  he  stopped  for  breath.  He  was  shaky 
after  the  effort,  his  heart  thumped  painfully,  and  his 
chest  rose  and  fell.  He  imagined  other  men  were  on 
the  boom,  but  he  and  his  companion  were  all  that  mat- 
tered. They  must  lash  the  peak  down  before  the  sail 
blew  out  again.  When  this  was  done,  the  others  could 
master  the  distended  folds. 

The  wet  rope  tore  his  hands:  he  felt  them  get  slip- 
pery with  blood,  but  he  held  on  and  the  man  beside 
him  helped.  Marston  knew  he  was  not  a  Kroo.  The 
Kroos  were  bold  sailors,  but  their  resolution  had  a 
limit.  When  a  job  looked  hopeless  they  gave  up ;  the 
man  beside  Marston  was  another  type.  While  there 
was  breath  in  his  body  he  would  stick  to  his  task. 
The  sail  must  be  conquered. 

Lightning  played  about  them  and  Marston's  eyes 
were  dazzled  by  the  changes  from  intolerable  glare 
to  dark.  He  trusted  to  the  feel  of  things  and  his 
seaman's  knowledge  of  what  was  happening.  He  did 
not  think,  but  worked  half-consciously.  They  made 
the  gaff  fast,  and  then  something  broke  and  the  heavy 
boom  swung  out  over  the  sea.  The  jerk  threw  Mars- 
ton's  feet  from  the  rope  and  his  body  began  to  slip  off 
the  boom.  He  saw  fiery  foam  below,  but  as  he  braced 
himself  for  the  plunge  the  next  man  seized  him.  It 
looked  as  if  they  must  both  slip  off,  for  Marston  found 
no  hold  for  his  hands  on  the  smooth,  wet  spar.  Per- 
haps the  pressure  of  the  wind  saved  them  by  forcing 


THE  TORNADO  51 

their  limp  bodies  against  the  boom,  for  the  other  man 
steadied  Marston  until  his  foot  touched  the  rope  again. 

For  a  moment  or  two  they  hung  on,  not  daring  to 
move  and  waiting  until  they  gathered  strength.  Then 
they  carefully  worked  their  way  to  the  inner  end  of 
the  spar  and  dropped,  exhausted,  on  the  deck.  There 
was  however,  no  rest  for  them.  The  massive  boom 
must  be  dragged  back  and  dropped  into  its  crutch.  It 
could  not  be  left  to  lurch  about  and  smash  all  it  struck. 
Marston  was  vaguely  conscious  that  a  gang  of  Kroo- 
boys  ran  to  the  mainsheet  and  Wyndham  directed  their 
efforts.  He,  himself,  could  do  no  more,  and  he  leaned 
against  the  rail,  breathing  hard. 

As  his  exhaustion  vanished  he  began  to  note  things. 
The  men  had  secured  the  boom;  but  the  schooner's 
bows  looked  bare  and  he  remembered  the  jibs  had 
blown  away.  The  foresail  was  torn  and  half-lowered, 
and  the  gaff  at  its  head  was  jambed.  The  torn  canvas 
kept  the  vessel  from  falling  off  the  wind,  but  would 
not  bring  her  up  enough  for  her  to  lie  to.  Masts  and 
deck  were  horribly  slanted,  the  windward  bulwark  was 
hove  high  up,  and  luminous  spray  drove  across  its  top. 
It  looked  as  if  she  were  going  over  and  there  was  an 
appalling  din,  for  the  scream  of  the  tornado  pierced 
the  thunder. 

Then  lightning  enveloped  the  yacht  and  ran  along 
the  water.  For  an  instant  Marston  saw  Wyndham's 
white  figure  at  the  wheel,  and  then  he  groped  his  way 
towards  him  in  the  puzzling  dark.  Harry  would  need 
help,  for  Marston  knew  what  he  meant  to  do.  Since 
Columbine  would  not  come  up,  he  was  going  to  run 
her  off  before  the  wind  in  order  to  ease  the  horrible 
pressure  that  bore  her  down.  The  trouble  was,  the 


52  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

tornado  blew  from  sea,  and  land  was  near.  Marston 
seized  the  wheel,  and  using  all  his  strength,  helped 
Wyndham  to  pull  it  round.  She  felt  her  rudder  and 
began  to  swing,  lifting  her  lee  rail  out  of  the  water. 
Then  she  came  nearly  upright  with  a  jerk,  and  although 
the  tornado  was  deafening,  Marston  thought  he  heard 
the  water  roar  as  it  leaped  against  her  bows. 

The  speed  she  made  lifted  her  forward  and  a  white 
wave  curled  abreast  of  the  rigging.  She  was  going 
like  a  train  and  Marston  sweated  and  gasped  as  he 
helped  at  the  wheel.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  let 
her  run,  although  it  was  obvious  she  could  not  run 
long;  A  glance  at  the  lighted  compass  indicated  that 
she  was  heading  for  the  land,  where  angry  surf  beat 
upon  an  inhospitable  beach.  If  they  tried  to  bring 
her  round,  the  masts  would  go  and  she  might  capsize. 

She  drove  on  and  presently  the  thunder  stopped. 
Rain  that  fell  in  sheets  swept  the  deck  and  beat  their 
clothes  against  their  skin.  One  heard  nothing  but  the 
roar  of  the  deluge  and  the  darkness  could  not  be 
pierced.  After  a  few  minutes  Marston  felt  the  strain 
on  the  wheel  get  easier  and  lost  the  sense  of  speed. 
The  deck  did  not  seem  to  be  lifted  forward  and  he 
thought  the  bows  had  resumed  their  proper  level. 
When  he  turned  his  head  the  rain  no  longer  lashed  his 
face,  the  foresail  flapped,  and  the  straining,  rattling 
noises  began  again.  It  looked  as  if  the  wind  had 
suddenly  got  light. 

"  Let's  bring  her  round,"  he  shouted  and  heard  his 
voice  hoarse  and  loud. 

Wyndham  signed  agreement,  they  turned  the  wheel, 
and  the  crew  ran  about  the  deck.  She  came  round 
and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  headed  out  to  sea,  lurch- 


THE  TORNADO  53 

ing  slowly  across  the  swell  that  now  rolled  and  broke 
with  crests  of  foam.  The  sky  had  cleared,  but  not 
far  off  an  ominous  rumble  came  out  of  the  gloom 
astern. 

"  We'll  wait  for  daybreak  before  we  make  sail," 
Wyndham  remarked.  "  You  can  get  below.  My 
watch  has  begun." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  with  me  on  the  boom  ?  " 

"  I  was  on  the  boom,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Some- 
body else  was  near." 

"  Do  you  imply  you  didn't  know  whom  it  was  when 
you  held  me  up?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Wyndham,  laughing,  "  it's  not  im- 
portant. Suppose  I  had  grabbed  a  Krooboy  who  was 
falling?  Do  you  imagine  I  ought  to  have  let  him 
go?  Anyhow,  we  helped  each  other.  I  don't  ex- 
pect I'd  have  reached  the  deck  if  I  had  been  alone." 

Marston  said  no  more.  One  felt  some  reserve  when 
one  talked  about  things  like  that.  He  looked  to  wind- 
ward, and  seeing  the  night  was  calm,  went  below. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    MIDDLE    PASSAGE 

MARSTON  lounged  with  languid  satisfaction  on 
a  locker  in  the  stern  cabin.  He  had  borne  some 
strain  and  his  body  felt  strangely  slack  although  his 
brain  was  active.  The  cabin  was  small  and  very 
plain,  because  the  yacht  had  been  altered  below  decks 
when  she  was  fitted  for  carrying  cargo.  Moisture 
trickled  down  the  matchboarded  ceiling,  big  warm 
drops  fell  from  the  beams,  and  a  brass  lamp  swung 
about  as  she  rolled.  Marston,  however,  knew  this  was 
an  illusion;  the  beams  moved  but  the  lamp  was  still. 

There  were  confused  noises.  Water  washed  about 
inside  the  lurching  hull,  although  a  sharp  clank  over- 
head indicated  that  somebody  was  occupied  at  the 
pump;  water  gurgled,  with  a  noise  like  rolling  gravel, 
outside  the  planks.  Timbers  groaned,  a  seam  in  the 
matchboarding  opened  and  shut,  and  a  dull  concussion 
shook  the  boat  when  her  bows  plunged  into  the  swell. 
The  swell  was  high,  although  the  wind  had  dropped. 
Marston  knew  these  noises  and  found  them  soothing. 
They  belonged  to  the  sea,  and  he  loved  the  sea.  al- 
though he  had  not  long  since  fought  it  for  his  life. 
Xow  the  strain  was  over,  he  felt  the  struggle  with  the 
tornado  had  braced  and  steadied  him. 

In  the  tropics,  it  was  the  land  he  did  not  like.  Per- 
haps he  was  getting  morbid,  for  after  all  he  had  not 
seen  much  of  the  African  coast  and  yet  it  frankly 

54 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  55 

daunted  him.  His  confused  recollections  were  like  a 
bad  dream ;  muddy  lagoons  surrounded  by  dreary  man- 
groves from  which  the  miasma  stole  at  night,  hot  and 
steamy  forests  where  mysterious  dangers  lurked,  and 
rotting  damp  factories  from  which  the  burning  sun 
could  not  drive  the  shadow  that  weighed  the  white  man 
down.  Marston  was  not  imaginative,  but  he  had  felt 
the  gloom. 

He  pondered  about  it  curiously.  The  shadow  was, 
so  to  speak,  impalpable ;  vague  yet  sinister.  Now  and 
then  white  men  rebelled  against  it  with  noisy  revels, 
but  when  the  liquor  was  out  the  gloom  crept  back  and 
some  drank  again  until  they  died.  Yet  the  coast  had 
a  subtle  charm,  against  which  it  was  prudent  to  steel 
oneself.  The  shadow  was  a  reflection  of  the  deeper 
gloom  in  which  the  naked  bushmen  moved  and  served 
the  powers  that  rule  the  dark. 

Fever-worn  traders  declared  there  were  such  powers. 
One  heard  strange  stories  that  the  men  who  told 
them  obviously  believed.  It  looked  as  if  the  Ju-ju 
magicians  were  not  altogether  impostors ;  they  knew 
things  the  white  man  did  not  and  by  this  knowledge 
ruled.  Their  rule  was  owned  and  firm.  Marston  had 
thought  it  ridiculous,  but  now  he  doubted.  There  was 
something  behind  the  hocus-pocus;  something  that 
moved  one's  curiosity  and  tempted  one  to  rash  ex- 
periment. Marston  knew  this  was  what  he  feared. 
Harry  was  rash  and  had  rather  felt  the  fascination 
than  the  gloom. 

Marston  banished  his  disturbing  thoughts  and  began 
to  muse  about  their  struggle  with  the  sail.  Harry  was 
a  normal,  healthy  white  man  then.  It  was  rather  his 
sailor's  instincts  than  conscious  resolution  that  led  him 


56  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

to  keep  up  the  fight  when  it  looked  as  if  he  must  be 
thrown  off  the  boom.  He  would  have  been  thrown  off 
before  he  owned  he  was  beaten.  One  did  things  like 
that  at  sea,  because  they  must  be  done,  and  did  not 
think  them  fine.  Marston  reviewed  the  fight,  remem- 
bering his  terror  when  he  slipped  and  how  his  con- 
fidence returned  after  Harry  seized  his  arm.  The 
thought  of  the  lonely  plunge  had  daunted  him;  it  was 
different  when  he  knew  he  would  not  plunge  alone. 
If  Harry  and  he  could  not  reach  the  deck,  they  would 
drop  into  the  dark  together.  That  was  all,  but  it 
meant  much.  For  one  thing,  it  meant  that  Marston 
must  go  where  his  comrade  went,  although  he  might 
not  like  the  path.  In  the  meantime  he  was  tired  and 
got  into  his  bunk. 

When  he  went  on  deck  in  the  morning  the  breeze  was 
fresh  and  Columbine  drove  through  the  water  under 
all  plain  sail,  for  they  had  some  spare  canvas  on  board. 
The  sky  was  clear  and  the  sun  sparkled  on  the  foam 
that  leaped  about  the  bows  and  ran  astern  in  a  broad 
•white  wake.  The  old  boat  was  fast  and  there  was 
something  exhilarating  in  her  buoyant  lift  and  roll. 
Marston  and  Wyndham  got  breakfast  under  an  awning 
on  deck.  Wyndham  wore  thin  white  clothes  and  a 
silk  belt.  His  skin  was  burned  a  dark  red  and  his 
keen  blue  eyes  sparkled.  One  saw  the  graceful  lines 
of  his  muscular  figure ;  he  looked  alert  and  virile. 

"  You're  fresh  enough  this  morning,"  Marston  re- 
marked. "  My  back  is  sore  and  my  arms  ache.  It 
was  a  pretty  big  strain  to  secure  the  gaff." 

Wyndham  laughed.  "If  the  sail  had  blown  away 
from  us,  the  mast  would  have  gone  and  the  boat  have 
drifted  into  the  surf." 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  57 

"  I  suppose  we  knew  this  unconsciously.  Anyhow, 
I  didn't  argue  about  the  thing." 

"  You  held  on,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Well,  I  expect 
it's  an  example  of  an  instinct  men  developed  when  they 
used  the  old  sailing  ships.  They  must  beat  the  sea  or 
drown,  and  sometimes  the  safety  of  all  depended  on 
the  nerve  of  one.  I  expect  it  led  to  a  kind  of  class- 
conscientiousness.  The  common  need  produced  a 
code." 

"  The  instinct's  good.  Somehow,  all  you  learn  at 
sea  is  good;  I  mean,  it's  morally  bracing." 

Wyndham  smiled  and  indicated  a  faint  dark  line 
that  melted  into  the  horizon  on  the  starboard  hand. 

"  It's  different  in  Africa,  for  example?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Marston  cautiously,  "  Africa  has 
drawbacks,  but  if  you  don't  get  fever  and  are  satisfied 
to  look  at  things  on  the  surface,  you  might  stay  there 
sometime  and  not  get  much  harm." 

Wyndham  saw  Marston  meant  to  warn  him  and 
was  amused.  Bob  was  rather  obvious,  but  he  was 
sincere. 

"  Suppose  you're  not  satisfied  with  things  as  they 
look  on  the  surface  and  want  to  find  out  what  they 
are  beneath  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Then  I  think  you  ought  to  clear  out  and  go  back 
to  the  North." 

"  A  simple  plan !  As  a  rule,  your  plans  are  simple. 
I'm  curious,  however,  and  sometimes  like  to  indulge  my 
curiosity.  It's  easily  excited  in  Africa.  There  is 
much  the  white  man  doesn't  know;  he's  hardly  begun 
to  grasp  the  negro's  point  of  view." 

"  The  negro  has  no  point  of  view.  He  gropes  in 
the  dark/' 


58  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"I  doubt  it,"  said  Wyndham  thoughtfully.  "I 
rather  imagine  he  sees  a  light,  but  perhaps  not  the 
light  we  know.  There's  a  rude  order  in  his  country 
and  men  with  knowledge  rule.  The  Leopards,  the 
Ghost  Crocodiles,  and  the  other  strange  societies  don't 
hold  power  for  nothing.  Power  that's  felt  has  some 
foundation." 

"  You  like  power,"  Marston  remarked. 

Wyndham  smiled  and  looked  about  while  he  felt 
for  another  cigarette.  Columbine,  swaying  rhyth- 
mically to  the  heave  of  the  swell,  drove  through  the 
sparkling  water  with  a  shower  of  spray  blowing  across 
her  weather  bow.  Her  tall  canvas  gleamed  against  the 
blue  sky.  A  Krooboy  lounged  at  the  wheel,  the  most 
part  of  his  muscular  body  naked  and  a  broad  blue 
stripe  running  down  his  forehead.  Two  or  three  more 
squatted  in  the  shade  of  a  sail.  At  the  galley  door  the 
cook  sang  a  monotonous  African  song.  The  wire 
shrouds  hummed  like  harpstrings.  striking  notes  that 
changed  with  the  tension  as  the  vessel  rolled.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  lounge  and  talk  and  Wynd- 
ham's  mood  was  confidential. 

"  I  have  not  known  much  power,"  he  said.  "  In 
England,  power  must  be  bought.  My  father  was 
poor  but  careless ;  my  mother  was  sternly  conventional. 
When  he  died  she  tried  to  turn  my  feet  into  the  reg- 
ular, beaten  path.  I  know  now  she  was  afraid  I  would 
follow  my  ancestors'  wandering  steps.  Well,  at 
school,  I  had  the  smallest  allowance  among  the  boys, 
and  learned  to  plot  for  things  my  comrades  enjoyed. 
As  a  rule,  I  got  the  things.  I  don't  know  if  the  effort 
was  good  or  not,  but  I  was  ambitious  and  wanted  a 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  59 

leading  place.     Folks  like   you  don't  know   what  it 
costs  to  hold  one's  ground." 

"  I  expect  I  got  things  easily,"  Marston  agreed. 
"  Perhaps  this  was  lucky,  because  I've  no  particular 
talent." 

"  You  have  one  talent  that  is  worth  all  mine," 
Wyndham  rejoined  with  some  feeling.  "  People  trust 
you,  Bob." 

Marston  colored,  but  Wyndham  went  on :  "  When 
I  left  school  and  went  to  Wyndhams'  there  was  not 
much  change.  For  the  most  part,  my  friends  were 
rich,  and  I  had  a  clerk's  pay,  with  a  vague  understand- 
ing that  at  some  far  off  time  I  might  be  the  head  of 
the  house.  The  house  was  obviously  tottering;  I  did 
not  think  it  would  stand  until  I  got  control.  My  uncle, 
Rupert's  brother,  would  not  see.  Wyndhams'  had 
stood  so  long  he  felt  it  was  self-supporting  and  would 
stand.  Well,  he  was  kind,  and  I'm  glad  he  died  with- 
out knowing  how  near  we  really  were  to  a  fall. 

"  However,  I  didn't  mean  to  talk  about  the  house, 
but  rather  about  my  life  when  I  was  a  shipping  clerk. 
I  had  ambition  and  thought  I  had  talent ;  I  hated  to  be 
left  behind  by  my  friends.  It  cost  much  planning  to 
share  their  amusements,  join  a  good  yacht  club,  and 
race  my  boat.  Sportsmen  like  you  don't  know  the 
small  tricks  and  shabbiness  we  others  are  forced  to  use. 
Well,  at  length  my  uncle  died  and  I  got  control  of  the 
falling  house,  with  its  load  of  debt.  I'd  long  been 
rash,  but  the  rashest  thing  I  did  was  when  I  fell  in 
love  with  Flora.  Yet  she  loved  me,  and  Chisholm, 
with  some  reserves,  has  given  his  consent.  I  have  got 
to  satisfy  him  and  with  this  in  view,  we're  bound 


60  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

for  the  Caribbean  on  board  a  thirty-year-old  yacht." 

Marston  thought  Wyndham  did  not  look  daunted. 
In  a  sense,  his  venture  was  reckless,  but  Harry  tried, 
and  did,  things  others  thought  beyond  their  powers. 
On  the  whole  Marston  imagined  his  boldness  was  jus- 
tified. 

"If  money  can  help,  you  know  where  it  can  be  got," 
he  said. 

Wyndham's  half-ironical  glance  softened. 

"  Thanks,  Bob !  So  far,  I  haven't  gone  begging 
from  my  friends ;  but  if  I  can  use  your  money  without 
much  risk,  I  will  borrow.  I  think  you  know  this." 

"  What's  mine  is  yours,"  Marston  remarked  and 
went  to  the  cabin  for  a  chart,  with  which  he  occupied 
himself. 

He  studied  the  chart  and  sailing  directions  when 
he  had  nothing  to  do  and  was  rather  surprised  that 
Wyndham  did  not.  It  was  a  long  run  to  the  Carib- 
bean and  would  be  longer  if  they  drifted  into  the 
equatorial  calms.  Marston  had  a  yacht  master's  cer- 
tificate, although  he  was  rather  a  seaman  than  a  nav- 
igator. He  could  find  his  way  along  the  coast  by  com- 
pass and  patent-log,  but  to  steer  an  ocean  course  was 
another  thing.  One  must  be  exact  when  one  calculated 
one's  position  by  the  height  of  the  sun  and  stars. 

For  some  time  they  made  good  progress  and  then 
the  light  wind  dropped  and  Columbine  rolled  about 
in  a  glassy  calm.  The  swell  ran  in  long  undulations 
that  shone  with  reflected  light,  and  there  was  no  shade, 
for  they  lowered  all  sail  to  save  the  canvas  from  burn- 
ing and  chafing.  The  sun  pierced  the  awning,  and  it 
was  intolerably  hot  They  had  reached  the  dangerous 
part  of  the  old  slavers'  track;  the  belt  of  stagnant 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  61 

ocean  where  the  south  wind  stopped  and  the  north-east 
had  not  begun.  The  belt  had  been  marked  long  since 
by  horrors  worse  than  wreck,  for  while  the  crowded 
brigs  and  schooners  drifted  under  the  burning  sun, 
fresh  water  ran  out  and  white  men  got  crazed  with 
rum  while  negroes  died  from  thirst. 

Wyndham  lounged  one  morning  under  the  awning 
after  his  bath.  He  wore  silk  pyjamas,  a  red  silk  belt, 
and  a  wide  hat  of  double  felt.  He  looked  cool  and 
Marston  thought  he  harmonized  with  his  surround- 
ings; the  background  of  dazzling  water,  the  slanted 
masts  that  caught  the  light  as  they  swung,  and  the  oily 
black  figures  of  the  naked  crew.  He  wondered 
whether  Harry  had  inherited  something  from  ancestors 
who  had  known  the  tragedies  of  the  middle  passage. 
Marston  himself  was  wet  with  sweat,  his  eyes  ached, 
and  his  head  felt  full  of  blood. 

"  We  may  drift  about  for  some  time,"  he  said, 
throwing  down  a  book  he  had  tried  to  read.  "  The 
sailing  directions  indicate  that  the  Trades  are  variable 
near  their  southern  limit." 

"  It's  a  matter  of  luck,"  Wyndham  agreed,  and 
Marston  started  because  his  comrade's  next  remark 
chimed  with  his  thoughts.  "  When  I  studied  some  of 
the  house's  old  records  I  found  that  two  of  our  brigs 
vanished  in  the  calm  belt.  One  wondered  how  they 
went.  Fire  perhaps,  or  the  slaves  broke  the  hatch  at 
night.  Can't  you  picture  their  pouring  out  like  ants 
and  bearing  down  the  drunken  crew?  The  crews  did 
drink;  slaving  was  not  a  business  for  sober  men. 
Hogsheads  of  rum  figure  in  our  old  victualing  bills." 

He  paused  and  resumed  with  a  hard  smile:  "Well, 
it  was  a  devilish  trade.  One  might  speculate  whether 


62  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  responsibility  died  with  the  men  engaged  in  it 
and  vanished  with  the  money  they  earned.  None  of 
the  Wyndhams  seem  to  have  kept  money  long;  luck 
went  hard  against  them.  When  they  did  not  squander, 
misfortune  dogged  the  house." 

"  Superstition !  "  Marston  exclaimed. 

Wyndham  laughed.  "  It's  possible,  but  supersti- 
tion's common  and  all  men  are  not  fools.  I  expect 
their  fantastic  imaginings  hold  a  seed  of  truth.  Per- 
haps somebody  here  and  there  finds  the  seed  and  makes 
it  grow." 

"  In  Africa,  they  water  the  soil  with  blood.  It's 
not  a  white  man's  gardening."  Marston  rejoined  and 
went  forward  to  the  bows,  but  got  no  comfort  there. 

The  sea  shone  like  polished  steel,  heaving  in  long 
folds  without  a  wrinkle  on  its  oily  surface.  But  for 
the  sluggish  rise  and  fall,  one  might  have  imagined  no 
wind  had  blown  since  the  world  was  young. 

For  a  week  Columbine  rolled  about,  and  then  one 
morning  faint  blue  lines  ran  across  the  sea  to  the 
north.  Gasping  and  sweating  with  the  effort,  they 
hoisted  sail  and  sent  up  the  biggest  topsail  drenched 
•with  salt  water.  Sometimes  it  and  the  light  balloon 
jib  filled  and  although  the  lower  canvas  would  not 
draw,  Columbine  began  to  move.  One  could  not  feel 
her  progress,  there  was  no  strain  on  the  helm,  but 
silky  ripples  left  her  side  and  slowly  trailed  astern. 

For  all  that,  she  went  the  wrong  way,  heading 
south  into  the  calm,  and  they  could  not  bring  her 
round.  Her  rudder  had  no  grip  when  they  turned 
the  wheel,  and  sometimes  she  stopped  for  an  hour  and 
then  crawled  on  again.  The  Krooboys  panted  in  the 
shade  of  the  shaking  sails,  and  Marston  groaned  and 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  63 

swore  when  he  took  his  glasses  and  slackly  climbed 
the  rigging.  The  dark-blue  lines  were  plainer,  three 
or  four  miles  off,  and  he  thought  they  marked  the  edge 
of  the  Trade-breeze. 

Wyndham  alone  looked  unmoved;  he  lay  in  a  can- 
vas chair  under  the  awning,  and  smoked  and  seemed 
to  dream.  Marston  wondered  what  he  dreamed  about 
and  hoped  it  was  Flora.  In  the  afternoon  Marston 
felt  he  must  find  some  relief. 

"  I  want  to  launch  a  boat  and  tow  her,"  he  said. 
"  There's  wind  enough  not  far  off  to  keep  her  steer- 
ing." 

Wyndham  nodded.  "  Very  well.  It's  recorded 
that  they  towed  the  Prozndence  for  three  days  and 
used  up  a  dozen  negroes  in  the  boats,  besides  some 
gallons  of  rum.  The  fellow  who  kept  the  log  was 
obviously  methodical.  However,  I  want  to  keep  our 
boys,  and  you  can't  tow  in  the  sun." 

"  It's  unthinkable,"  Marston  agreed.  "  We'll  begin 
at  dark." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   TOW 

AT  sunset  they  hoisted  out  two  boats,  for  wages 
are  low  in  Africa  and  Columbine  carried  a  big 
crew.  Wyndham  stopped  on  board  to  steer  while 
Marston  went  in  the  gig,  and  the  sun  touched  the 
horizon  when  he  began  to  uncoil  a  heavy  warp.  He 
was  only  occupied  for  a  few  minutes  but  when  he 
had  finished  it  was  dark.  The  relief  from  the  glare 
was  soothing  and  the  gloom  was  marked  by  a  mistiness 
that  gave  him  hope.  He  knew  a  faint  haze  often 
follows  the  North-East  Trades. 

The  Krooboys  dipped  the  oars,  and  the  water  glim- 
mered with  luminous  spangles  under  the  blades  and 
fell  like  drops  of  liquid  fire.  This  was  all  the  light, 
except  for  the  sparkle  at  Columbine's  bows  as  she 
slowly  forged  ahead.  She  came  on,  towering  above 
the  boats  in  a  vague  dark  mass,  until  she  sank  with 
the  swell  and  the  tightening  rope  jerked  them  rudely 
back.  On  heaving  water,  towing  a  large  vessel  is 
strenuous  work,  for  her  progress  is  a  series  of  plunges 
and  one  cannot  keep  an  even  strain  on  the  rope. 

\Yhen  they  began  to  row  Marston's  boat  was  drawn 
back  under  the  yacht's  iron  martingale.  Her  bow- 
sprit loomed  above  it,  threatening  and  big,  and  the  oars 
bent  as  the  Kroos  drove  the  boat  ahead.  In  a  few 
moments  she  stopped  and  forged  back  towards  the 
yacht,  but  the  jerk  was  less  violent.  Columbine  was 

64 


THE  TOW  65 

moving  faster  and  the  heavy  warp  worked  like  a 
spring,  easing  the  shock.  Marston's  business,  how- 
ever, was  to  tow  her  round  and  when  she  began  to 
turn  he  had  trouble  to  keep  his  boat  in  line.  The 
tightening  rope  rasped  across  her  stern,  the  gig 
swerved  and  listed  over,  until  it  looked  as  if  she 
would  capsize.  The  oars  on  one  side  were  buried 
deep,  the  men  could  not  clear  them  for  another  stroke, 
and  the  threatening  martingale  rose  and  fell  close 
astern. 

Marston,  when  the  rope  would  let  him,  sculled  with 
a  long  oar,  and  presently  the  skin  peeled  from  his 
hands.  His  throat  got  parched,  sweat  ran  down  his 
face  and  he  gasped  with  straining  breath,  but  it  was 
better  to  use  his  strength  than  risk  the  martingale's 
being  driven  into  his  back.  They  pulled  her  round 
and  it  was  easier  afterwards  although  he  could  not 
relax  much.  The  yacht  was  stealing  through  the 
water,  but  they  must  keep  up  her  speed  or  the  violent 
jerks  would  begin  again.  It  was  only  possible  to  rest 
for  a  moment  on  the  crest  of  the  swell  when  the  warp 
absorbed  the  backward  pull. 

A  negro  began  to  sing  and  the  rest  took  up  the 
chorus.  The  air  was  strange  and  dreary  but  some- 
how musical,  and  Marston  imagined  it  was  very  old. 
He  understood  the  Kroos  had  sung  their  paddling 
chanties  long  before  the  Elizabethan  slavers  touched 
the  fever-coast.  The  night  was  very  calm  and  dark. 
The  figures  of  the  men  were  indistinct,  but  when  the 
song  stopped  Marston  heard  their  labored  breathing 
and  the  regular  splash  of  oars.  They  rowed  well  and 
he  hoped  their  toil  was  not  wasted.  By  daybreak  they 
might  reach  the  edge  of  the  wind,  but  the  fickle 


66  WYXDHAM'S  PAL 

zephyrs  might  die   away  and  the  fiery  dawn  break 
across  another  glassy  calm. 

When  he  was  not  sculling  Marston  mused.  He  was 
rich  and  owned  it  strange  that  he  was  there,  laboring 
in  the  boat,  as  the  slavers  labored  when  they  towed 
the  Providence,  two  hundred  years  ago.  He  won- 
dered why  men  went  to  sea  in  sailing  ships,  to  bear 
fatigues  nobody  endured  at  home,  to  fight  for  life  on 
slanted  yards,  and  stagger  waist-deep  about  flooded 
decks.  Yet  one  went,  and  sometimes  went  for  no 
reward.  The  thing  was  puzzling. 

After  all,  the  sea  had  a  touch  of  romance  one  felt 
nowhere  else.  It  was  something  to  brave  the  middle 
passage,  although  one  had  enough  fresh  water  and  no 
frenzied  slaves  on  board.  Marston  thought  about  the 
old  brigs  —  they  towed  the  Providence  three  days, 
under  the  burning  tropic  sun.  He  could  picture  her. 
She  rode  low  in  the  water,  with  her  stone  ballast,  and 
freight  of  parched  humanity  packed  close  on  the  tween- 
decks  and  in  the  bottom  hold.  She  had  tall  masts,  for 
speed  was  needed,  and  the  weight  aloft  would  make 
her  plunge  and  roll.  The  jerks  on  the  towline  em- 
barrassed the  boats,  but  white  men  drove  the  ex- 
hausted negroes  with  whips  and  curses  until  they 
dropped  the  oars  and  died.  Yet  they  towed  her  three 
days. 

Marston  could  not  see  his  watch  and  wondered  how 
long  it  was  to  sunrise.  It  was  unthinkable  they  should 
go  on  rowing  in  the  heat  of  day;  he  was  tired  now 
and  remembering  the  dark  ripples  alone  sustained  him. 
He  thought  they  had  nearly  reached  the  spot  where 
the  surface  was  disturbed,  but  the  fickle  puffs  of  wind 
might  have  dropped.  Stopping  sculling  for  a  few 


THE  TOW  67 

moments,  he  turned  his  head.  His  face  was  wet  with 
sweat  but  he  felt  no  coolness  on  his  skin.  It  was  very 
dark  and  ominously  calm. 

He  took  up  the  long  oar  again,  twisting  it  with 
bleeding  hands  and  bracing  his  legs.  They  must  keep 
Columbine  moving  and  his  business  was  to  hold  the 
boat  straight;  trouble  with  the  warp  would  follow  if 
she  took  a  sheer.  For  all  that,  he  could  not  hold 
out  long.  He  had  taken  life  easily  and  his  body  re- 
volted from  the  strain.  In  fact,  he  was  beaten  now, 
but  it  counted  for  much  that  the  Krooboys  rowed. 
They  were  raw  savages  and  he  was  white.  They 
owned  his  control,  but  all  the  advantages  money  could 
buy  for  him  had  gone.  Nothing  was  left  but  the 
primitive  strength  and  stubbornness  of  human  nature. 
He  must  not  be  beaten ;  he  owed  it  to  the  ruling  stock 
from  which  he  sprang,  and  with  a  stern  effort  he 
tugged  at  the  oar. 

At  length,  he  felt  an  elusive  chill,  and  wiping  his 
wet  face,  looked  about.  In  the  east,  it  was  not  quite 
so  dark,  and  when  he  turned  his  head  the  yacht  looked 
blacker  and  not  so  large.  Hull  and  sails  were  no 
longer  blurred;  their  outline  was  getting  sharp,  and 
he  noted  that  the  balloon  jib  swelled  in  a  gentle  curve. 
One  side  of  his  face  got  cold  and  when  he  began  to 
scull  again  he  thought  the  strain  on  the  rope  was  less. 

A  belt  of  smoky  red  spread  swiftly  along  the 
horizon,  he  heard  the  high  gaff  topsail  flap,  booms 
rattled  and  then  the  yacht  got  quiet.  The  towrope 
sank  and  when  it  tightened  there  was  no  jerk. 
Columbine  was  stealing  up  behind  them. 

"In  oars!"  said  Marston  hoarsely.  "Let  go  the 
warp ! " 


68  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

The  boat  drifted  back  to  the  schooner  and  bumped 
against  her  side  until  somebody  caught  a  trailing  rope. 
Marston  with  an  effort  climbed  the  rail  and  dropping 
on  deck  saw  Wyndham  at  the  wheel. 

"  Shall  we  hoist  in?     The  boys  are  done,"  he  said. 

Wyndham  nodded.  "  Day's  breaking ;  it  will  soon 
be  blazing  hot.  The  sun  may  kill  the  wind,  but  I  don't 
know.  It's  a  fiery  dawn." 

Blocks  began  to  rattle  and  when  the  first  boat  swung 
across  the  rail  Marston  looked  about.  Broad  beams 
of  light  stretched  across  the  sky  and  the  red  sun  rose 
out  of  the  sea.  He  went  to  a  chair  under  the  awning 
and  threw  himself  down.  He  had  earned  a  few 
minutes'  rest,  but  when  they  had  gone  he  did  not  move 
and  Wyndham  smiled  as  he  noted  his  even  breath. 
Beckoning  a  Krooboy,  he  sent  him  for  a  blanket  and 
gently  covered  the  sleeping  man. 

Marston  was  wakened  by  a  lurch  that  threw  him 
off  the  chair,  and  getting  up  stiffly  he  noted  the  sharp 
slant  of  deck.  Then  he  saw  foam  boil  behind  the 
lee  rail  and  straining  curves  of  canvas  that  kept  their 
hollowness  when  the  yacht  rolled  to  windward.  She 
trailed  a  snowy  wake  across  the  backs  of  the  spark- 
ling seas  and  her  rigging  hummed  on  a  high,  piercing 
note.  The  sky  was  blue,  but  the  blue  was  dim  and 
the  sunshine  had  lost  its  dazzling  glare.  One  felt  a 
bracing  quality  in  the  breeze. 

"  Looks  as  if  we  had  hit  the  Trades,"  he  said. 
"What's  her  course?" 

"  About  North,  North-west,"  said  Wyndham,  who 
sat  on  the  stern  grating  and  indicated  the  Kroo  at  the 
wheel.  "  Bad  Dollar  is  steering  by  the  wind.  I 
reckoned  we  had  better  make  some  northing  while 


THE  TOW  69 

we  can.  Off  our  course,  but  the  Trades  are  fickle  in 
this  latitude.  Suppose  you  get  your  sextant.  It's 
close  on  twelve  o'clock." 

Marston  looked  at  the  nearly  vertical  sun  and 
laughed. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I'd  just  gone  to  sleep,"  he  said  and 
went  below. 

The  breeze  freshened  and  held,  Columbine  with  all 
plain  sail  set  made  good  speed,  and  they  laid  off  a 
straight  course  on  the  big  Atlantic  chart.  The  risks 
of  the  middle  passage  were  left  behind.  If  they  were 
lucky,  she  would  reach  far  across  on  the  starboard  tack, 
without  their  shifting  a  rope. 

Their  hopes  were  justified  and  at  length  they  made 
Barbadoes.  and  sailing  between  the  Windward  Isles, 
entered  the  Caribbean.  One  phase  of  the  adventure 
was  over,  but  Marston  with  vague  misgivings  realized 
that  another  had  begun.  Somehow  he  felt  he  had  not 
done  with  the  shadow  he  had  shrunk  from  in  Africa. 
For  all  that,  nothing  happened  to  disturb  him  as  they 
followed  the  coast,  stopping  now  and  then  at  an  open 
roadstead,  and  now  and  then  in  the  stagnant  harbor 
of  an  old  Spanish  town.  Indeed,  Marston  found  much 
that  was  soothingly  familiar ;  smart  liners,  rusty  cargo 
boats,  and  busy  hotels.  In  parts,  the  towns  had  been 
modernized,  but  civilized  comforts,  and  sometimes 
luxuries,  contrasted  sharply  with  decay  and  customs 
that  had  ruled  since  the  first  Spaniards  came. 

\Yvndhams'  had  agents  and  correspondents  at  a 
number  of  the  ports,  but,  as  a  rule,  they  were  dark- 
skinned  gentlemen  of  uncertain  stock.  They  lived  at 
old  houses  with  flat  tops  and  central  patios,  where  the 
kitchen  generally  adjoined  the  stable,  and  transacted 


70  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

their  business  in  rooms  from  which  green  shutters  kept 
out  the  light.  The  business  was  accompanied  by  the 
smoking  of  bitter  tobacco  and  draining  of  small 
copitas  of  scented  liquor.  T*hey  declared  their  houses 
were  Wyndham's,  but  did  not  present  him  and  Marston 
to  their  women. 

Except  for  some  American  and  German  merchants 
they  saw  few  white  people.  The  citizens  were  mu- 
lattos of  different  shades,  negroes,  and  half-breeds  who 
sprang  from  Spanish  and  Indian  stock,  although  it 
was  often  hard  to  guess  what  blood  ran  in  the 
Mestizos'  veins.  For  the  most  part,  they  were  a  cheer- 
ful, careless  lot;  the  coast  basked  in  sunshine,  with 
high,  blue  mountains  for  a  background,  and  Marston 
felt  nothing  of  the  gloom  and  mystery  that  haunted  the 
African  rivers.  At  some  of  the  ports  Wyndham  made 
arrangements  for  the  extension  of  the  house's  trade, 
but  Marston  could  not  tell  if  he  was  satisfied  or 
not. 

When  they  lounged  one  evening  on  the  veranda  of 
a  big  white  hotel,  Marston  led  his  comrade  firmly  to 
talk  about  business.  The  hotel  had  long  since  been 
the  home  of  a  Spanish  grandee,  and  although  the 
back  was  ruinous  the  Moorish  front  had  been  altered 
and  decorated  by  American  enterprise.  Marston 
thought  it  a  compromise  between  the  styles  of  Tangiers 
and  Coney  Island.  The  rash  American  had  gone  and 
the  Fonda  Malaguena  owned  the  rule  of  a  fat  and 
urbane  gentleman  who  claimed  to  have  come  from 
Spain.  For  all  that,  the  Malaguena  was  comfortable, 
and  after  the  yacht's  cramped,  hot  cabin,  Marston 
liked  the  big  shaded  rooms.  The  wine  and  food  were 
better  than  he  had  thought,  and  as  he  sat,  looking  out 


THE  TOW  71 

between  the  pillars,  with  a  cup  of  very  good  coffee  in 
front  of  him,  he  was  satisfied  to  stay  a  few  more  days. 
Small  tables  occupied  part  of  the  pavement,  white- 
clothed  waiters  moved  about,  and  people  talked  and 
laughed.  A  band  played  in  the  plaza  and  tram  cars 
jingled  along  the  narrow  street.  There  was  a  half 
moon  and  one  could  see  the  black  mountains  behind 
the  ancient  town. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  ought  to  grumble,  but  it's  obvious 
there's  not  much  money  to  be  earned  at  the  ports  we've 
touched,"  Wyndham  remarked.  "  Where  steamers 
call  and  trade  is  regularly  carried  on,  competition  cuts 
down  profits.  You  must  use  a  big  capital  if  you  want 
a  big  return." 

"  It's  the  usual  line,"  said  Marston.  "  I  think  it's 
sound." 

Wyndham  smiled.  "  You  like  the  usual  line !  The 
trouble  is,  my  capital  is  small." 

"  Then,  you  have  another  plan  ?  " 

"  I  have  some  notions  I  hope  to  work  out. 
Wyndhams'  have  agents  and  stores  at  places  farther 
along  the  coast.  Steamers  can't  get  into  the  lagoons 
and  we  use  sailing  boats.  The  trade's  small  and  risky, 
but  the  profit's  big.  We'll  push  on  and  see  what  can 
be  done,  although  I  don't  expect  too  much." 

Martson  pondered.  He  wanted  to  help  Wyndham 
and  had  sometimes  felt  his  sportsman's  life  was  rather 
objectless.  For  one  thing,  he  might  provide  himself 
with  an  occupation  and  perhaps  stop  Harry's  embark- 
ing on  rash  adventures.  To  invest  his  money  would 
give  him  some  control. 

"  Could  you  make  the  business  pay  if  you  had  a 
larger  capital?"  he  asked. 


72  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  There  are  pretty  good  grounds  for  imagining  so,'* 
Wyndham  replied. 

"  Very  well !  I  have  more  money  than  I  need  and 
have  been  looking  for  a  chance  to  use  my  talents. 
So  far  I've  kept  them  buried,  and  if  I  don't  dig  them 
up  soon,  they  might  rust  away.  If  you  agree,  I'd  like 
to  make  a  start  now  and  try  a  business  speculation." 
He  named  a  sum  and  added :  "  You  promised  you'd 
take  my  help  when  you  saw  how  you  could  use  the 
money." 

"  You're  generous,  Bob,"  Wyndham  remarked  with 
a  touch  of  feeling,  and  then  smiled.  "  However,  I 
know  you  pretty  well  and  think  I  understand  your 
plan.  You  want  to  keep  me  out  of  trouble  and  see 
I  take  the  prudent  line.  But  was  the  plan  yours  or 
Mabel's?" 

"  Mine,"  said  Marston,  rather  shortly.  "  All  the 
same,  I  imagine  Mabel  would  approve.  But  this  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it  and  you  needn't  invent  an  object 
for  me.  I'm  looking  for  a  good  investment.  My 
lawyers  only  get  me  three  or  four  per  cent." 

"  Then  you  make  no  stipulation?  " 

"  I  do  not,"  said  Marston.  "  You  will  have  control 
and  command  my  help.  If  I  couldn't  trust  you  with 
my  money,  I  would  not  have  gone  to  Africa  with  you. 
I  won't  grumble  if  you  lose  the  lot.  The  thing's  a 
speculation." 

Wyndham  knitted  his  brows  for  a  few  moments  and 
then  looked  up. 

"You're  a  very  good  sort,  Bob.  I'll  take  the 
loan." 

"  It's  not  a  loan,"  said  Marston  firmly.  "  I'm  buy- 
ing a  partnership." 


THE  TOW  73 

"  A  partner  is  responsible  for  all  losses  and  liabilities. 
A  lender  is  not ;  he  only  risks  the  sum  he  invests." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Marston.     "  I  understand  that." 

A  touch  of  color  came  into  Wyndham's  face,  but  he 
smiled. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  knew  you  had  pluck !  " 

Marston  got  up.  "  Xow  we  have  agreed,  we'll  get 
to  work.  Let's  see  if  the  telegraph  office  is  open. 
To  begin  with,  we'll  buy  the  lot  of  ballata  your  agent 
at  the  other  port  talked  about." 

\Yyndham  laughed  and  they  set  off  up  the  hot 
street. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   LAGOON 

AFTER  a  few  days,  Columbine  sailed  west,  and 
one  night  lurched  slowly  across  the  languid 
swell  towards  the  coast.  There  was  a  full  moon,  but 
Marston,  standing  near  the  negro  pilot  at  the  wheel, 
could  not  see  much.  Mist  drifted  about  the  forest 
ahead  and  he  heard  an  ominous  roar  of  surf.  Al- 
though no  break  in  the  coast  was  distinguishable,  the 
schooner  was  obviously  drifting  with  the  tide  toward 
an  opening.  The  wind  was  light  and  blew  off  the 
land,  laden  with  a  smell  of  spices  and  river  mud. 
Marston  did  not  like  the  smell :  he  had  known  it  in 
Africa  and  when  one  felt  the  sour  damp  one  took 
quinine.  He  had  studied  the  chart,  which  did  not 
tell  him  much,  and  since  there  were  no  marks  to  steer 
for  he  must  trust  the  negro  pilot. 

There  was  a  risk  about  going  in  at  night  and  Mars- 
ton  would  sooner  have  hove  to  and  waited,  but  the 
tide  rose  a  few  inches  higher  than  at  noon,  and 
Wyndham  seldom  shirked  a  risk  when  he  had  some- 
thing to  gain.  By  and  by  he  jumped  down  from  the 
rail  where  he  had  been  using  the  lead. 

"  I  expect  we'll  get  in,  but  I  don't  know  about  getting 
out  if  we're  loaded  deep,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  expect  much  of  a  load?  "  Marston  asked, 
because  the  chart  did  not  indicate  a  port. 

"  It  depends  on  our  luck.  Small  quantities  of  stuff 

74 


THE  LAGOON  75 

come  down;  scarce  dyestuffs,  rubber,  and  forest  pro- 
duce that  manufacturing  chemists  use.  We  have  a 
half-breed  agent.  White  men  can't  stand  the  climate 
long,  and  the  natives  are  rather  a  curious  lot." 

"  Negroes?  "  said  Marston  thoughtfully. 

Wyndham  laughed.  "  There  are  negroes.  I  un- 
derstand the  population's  pretty  mixed,  with  a  pre- 
dominating strain  of  African  blood.  I  expect  you 
don't  like  that,  but  trade's  generally  good  at  places 
where  steamers  don't  touch.  Profits  go  up  when  com- 
petition's languid." 

Marston  did  not  like  it.  He  had  thought  his  giving 
Wyndham  money  would  limit  their  business  to  trading 
at  civilized  ports.  He  imagined  Harry  knew  this  and 
ought  to  have  been  satisfied,  but  he  banished  his  feeling 
of  annoyance.  After  all,  he  had  made  no  stipulation 
and  was  perhaps  indulging  an  illogical  prejudice.  He 
must,  of  course,  trust  his  partner. 

The  yacht  stopped  with  a  sudden  jar  and  her  stern 
swung  round.  The  sails  flapped  and  her  main  boom 
lurched  across  and  brought  up  with  a  crash.  She 
bumped  hard  once  or  twice,  and  then  floated  off  and 
went  on  again.  The  misty  forest  was  nearer  and  a 
dim  white  belt  indicated  surf.  It  looked  as  if  they 
were  steering  for  an  unbroken  beach.  Then  a  wave 
of  thicker  mist  rolled  about  them  and  the  forest  was 
blotted  out.  Wyndham  jumped  on  the  rail,  and 
Marston  heard  the  splash  of  the  lead.  After  that  there 
was  silence  except  for  the  roar  of  the  surf,  and 
Marston  went  forward  to  see  if  the  anchor  was  clear, 
but  Wyndham  said  nothing  and  the  schooner  stole  on. 
Although  the  breeze  was  very  light,  the  tide  carried 
her  forward  and  Marston  felt  there  was  something 


76  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

ghostly  about  her  noiseless  progress.  By  and  by,  how- 
ever, Wyndham  threw  the  lead  on  the  deck. 

"Another  half-fathom!  We're  across  the  shoals," 
he  said.  "  I  expect  the  pilot  trusts  the  stream  to 
keep  us  in  the  channel." 

Marston  nodded.  He  saw  trees  in  front,  and  in 
one  place,  a  dark  blur,  faintly  edged  by  white,  that 
he  thought  was  a  bank  of  mud,  but  all  was  vague 
and  somehow  daunting.  The  trees  got  blacker,  al- 
though they  were  not  more  distinct,  the  sails  flapped 
and  then  hung  limp.  The  pilot  called  out,  and  when 
Marston  gave  an  order  the  anchor  plunged  and  the 
silence  was  broken  by  the  roar  of  running  chain.  This 
died  away  when  Columbine  swung,  and  except  for  the 
languid  rumble  of  the  surf  all  was  quieter  than  before. 
The  pilot  got  on  board  his  canoe  and  vanished  in  the 
mist,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  Marston  went  to 
the  cabin.  It  was  very  hot,  but  when  malaria  lurks  in 
the  night  mist  one  does  not  sleep  on  deck. 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning  the  cabin  floor 
slanted,  and  going  on  deck  he  saw  why  the  pilot  had 
told  them  to  let  the  boom  rest  on  the  port  quarter. 
The  tide  had  ebbed  and  although  its  rise  and  fall  was 
not  large,  belts  of  mud  and  channels  of  yellow  water 
occupied  the  bed  of  the  lagoon.  All  round  were  dingy 
mangroves  that  overlapped  and  hid  the  entrance.  A 
little  water  flowed  past  the  yacht,  but  it  was  plain 
that  her  bilge  rested  on  the  ground.  The  bottom 
shelved,  but  the  heavy  boom  inclined  her  up  the  bank. 
There  was  nobody  about  and  nothing  indicated  that 
anybody  ever  visited  the  spot.  Marston  frowned,  be- 
cause it  was  hard  to  persuade  himself  he  was  not  in 
Africa. 


THE  LAGOON  77 

About  noon  a  canoe  arrived  with  two  negroes  on 
board  and  Marston  and  Wyndham  were  paddled  to  a 
village  some  miles  up  a  creek.  It  was  a  poor  place; 
small,  whitewashed  mud  houses,  a  rusty  iron  store, 
and  a  row  of  squalid  huts  occupied  a  clearing  in  the 
forest.  Wyndhams'  agent  had  a  house  by  the  creek 
and  received  his  visitors  in  his  office.  Outside  the 
sand  was  dazzling,  but  the  office  was  dark  and  com- 
paratively cool.  A  reed  curtain  covered  the  window, 
which  had  no  glass,  there  was  no  door,  and  little 
puffs  of  wind  blew  in.  Don  Felix  was  a  fat  and 
greasy  mulatto,  dressed  in  soiled  white  duck,  with  a 
broad  red  sash,  in  which  an  ornamental  Spanish  knife 
was  stuck. 

He  brought  out  some  small  glasses  and  a  bottle 
of  scented  liquor  and  they  began  to  talk  and  smoke. 
The  agent's  English  was  not  good  and  he  now  and  then 
used  French  and  Castilian  words.  Marston  noted 
that  he  talked  about  a  number  of  unimportant  matters 
before  he  touched  on  business,  and  seemed  unwilling  to 
come  to  the  subject. 

"  I  can  give  you  a  load,  but  trade  is  bad,"  he  said 
at  length,  and  turned  to  the  window  with  a  gesture 
that  seemed  to  indicate  the  forest.  "  The  people  up 
there  are  lazy  and  for  some  time  have  not  brought 
much  produce  down." 

"  It's  natural  produce,  I  suppose?  Stuff  that  grows 
itself,"  Marston  remarked.  "  There  isn't  much  cul- 
tivation in  the  bush?  " 

Don  Felix  shrugged.  "  Quien  sabe?  Who  knows 
what  they  do  up  yonder?  These  people  they  are 
drole.  Sometimes  they  bring  me  cargo.  Sometimes 
they  come  to  beg;  there  is  a  fiesta  in  their  village,  they 


78  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

make  fandango,  jamboree.  The  trader  pays  for  the 
•fiesta  and  gets  back  nothing." 

"  Then  why  do  you  pay?  " 

"  It  is  better,"  Don  Felix  replied  and  looked  at  the 
door,  as  if  to  see  there  was  nobody  about.  "  They  are 
bete,  the  Mestizos,  but  when  one  is  wise  one  does  not 
make  enemies.  There  is  much  Obeah  in  the  bush." 

"  Obcah's  something  like  African  Ju-ju?  Magic  of 
a  sort?"  Marston  suggested. 

"  Something  like  that,"  Wyndham  agreed.  "  I 
don't  know  much  about  it."  He  looked  at  the  agent. 
"Do  you?" 

Don  Felix  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  "  Me,  I  am 
good  Catholic ;  I  know  nothing.  They  are  drole  in  the 
bush.  When  I  think  about  their  folly  I  laugh." 

"  Not  always,  I  imagine,"  Wyndham  remarked 
dryly.  "  However,  we  must  persuade  these  folks  we 
have  goods  they'd  find  useful.  That's  the  beginning 
of  trade.  When  a  man  sees  he  needs  things  some- 
body else  has  got,  he  gets  to  work  and  looks  for  some- 
thing to  sell.  Now  let's  consider " 

Marston  listened  while  his  comrade  talked.  Harry 
sometimes  surprised  people  who  did  not  know  him 
well.  He  was  romantic  but  he  had  a  calculating  vein. 
Harry  could  plan  and  bargain,  and  Marston  reflected 
that  while  the  Wyndhams  had  long  been  adventurers 
they  were  traders,  too.  After  an  hour's  talk  he  had 
arranged  much  that  promised  to  help  the  agent's  bus- 
iness and  they  went  back  to  the  creek. 

"  In  a  way,  we're  lucky,"  Wyndham  observed  while 
they  paddled  down  stream.  "  The  people  we're  going 
to  deal  with  are  nearly  pure  Africans  and  we  know 
something  about  negroes." 


THE  LAGOON  79 

Marston  said  nothing.  He  did  not  know  if  they 
were  lucky  or  not  and  rather  doubted. 

They  returned  to  the  schooner  and  in  the  morning 
cargo  began  to  arrive.  Two  or  three  days  afterwards 
Wyndham  went  off  to  the  village  with  some  of  the 
crew  and  Marston  gave  the  others  leave  to  go  ashore. 
Neither  the  boys  nor  Wyndham  came  back  at  dark, 
but  this  did  not  matter.  Although  the  schooner  rose 
upright  for  a  few  hours  when  the  tide  flowed,  she 
would  not  float  until  the  new  moon,  and  the  muddy 
lagoon  was  as  smooth  as  a  pond. 

In  the  evening  Marston  sat  in  the  little  stern  cabin. 
It  was  very  hot  and  his  brain  was  dull  but  he  did  not 
want  to  go  to  bed  until  the  crew  arrived.  Moisture 
dripped  from  the  ceiling  and  flies  hovered  round  the 
lamp  that  hung  at  an  angle  to  the  beams.  The  sky- 
light was  open  a  few  inches  and  although  the  opening 
was  covered  by  mosquito  gauze  one  could  not  keep  out 
the  flies.  Marston  hated  their  monotonous  buzzing, 
for  there  is  something  about  a  mangrove  swamp  that 
frays  a  white  man's  nerves.  Water  lapped  against 
the  planks  and  now  and  then  there  was  a  splash  in  the, 
mud.  The  tide  was  flowing  and  Marston  imagined  the 
water  round  the  vessel  was  three  or  four  feet  deep. 
It  looked  as  if  Wyndham  meant  to  stay  away  all  night, 
and  Marston  wondered  with  a  slight  uneasiness  what 
was  keeping  him. 

A  mahogany  medicine  chest  stood  on  the  small 
swing  table.  It  was  of  the  type  supplied  to  British 
merchant  ships,  but  larger,  and  the  London  chemists 
had  fitted  it  with  the  latest  drugs  used  in  the  tropics. 
There  was  a  book  about  them  and  Marston  had  meant 
to  re-arrange  the  bottles  and  packets,  which  had  got 


8o  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

displaced.  He  was  not  a  doctor,  but  he  had  studied 
the  book  and  found  it  interesting.  Tropical  diseases 
were  strange  and  numerous,  and  he  had  made  some 
cautious  experiments  on  the  crew.  Now  his  head 
ached  rather  badly  and  he  wondered  whether  he  would 
take  some  quinine. 

Presently  he  put  down  the  book  and  listened. 
Something  had  disturbed  him,  but  for  a  few  moments 
he  only  heard  the  splash  of  the  tide.  Then  the  scuttle 
over  his  head  opened  and  a  naked  foot  felt  for  the 
ladder.  The  foot  was  white  underneath,  but  al- 
though he  was  somewhat  startled,  Marston  did  not 
think  this  strange.  He  had  noted  that  negroes'  and 
mulattos'  soles  are  often  lighter  in  color  than  the 
rest  of  their  skin. 

He  sat  still  until  a  half  naked  man,  who  came  back- 
wards down  the  ladder,  turned  and  confronted  him 
with  an  apologetic  smile.  The  fellow  was  old  and  his 
face  was  wrinkled  and  a  curious  yellow  color.  Mars- 
ton  had  in  Africa  seen  badly  jaundiced  white  men  look 
something  like  that,  although  the  sickly  tint  was  not 
so  dark.  A  network  of  red  veins  covered  his  eyes 
but  they  looked  as  if  they  had  been  blue.  His  hair 
was  all  white.  He  put  a  small  carved  calabash  on  the 
table  and  then  squatted  on  the  cabin  floor. 

Marston  frowned  and  waited.  The  carving  had  an 
African  touch  and  it  was  an  African  custom  for  a 
visitor  to  bring  a  present.  The  negroes  called  it  a 
dash. 

"  Cappy  lib  for  village  ?  "  the  mulatto  remarked  and 
Marston  nodded. 

He  had  not  heard  a  canoe  and  wondered  how  the 
fellow  got  on  board,  since  his  thin  cotton  clothes  were 


THE  LAGOON  81 

dry.  Moreover,  although  the  half-breeds  Marston  had 
met  generally  used  creole  French  or  uncouth  Castilian, 
the  other  said  lib  for,  like  a  West  African. 

"Bad  country;  white  man  sick  too  much.  You 
sick  now?"  the  mulatto  resumed,  glancing  at  the 
chest. 

Marston  made  a  sign  of  agreement.  His  head 
ached  and  he  felt  languid.  It  was  possible  he  had  a 
mild  dose  of  fever. 

"  I  fix  you,"  said  the  mulatto,  who  pulled  out  a 
small  brass  box  and  emptied  some  brown  powder  on 
the  table.  "  You  drink  him  in  hot  water." 

'  Thank  you."  said  Marston  and  scraped  the  stuff 
onto  a  piece  of  paper,  thinking  he  might  experiment 
with  it.  The  fellow  could  have  no  object  for  trying 
to  poison  him  and  he  understood  the  half-breeds  knew 
some  useful  cures. 

"  Now  you  dash  me  a  drink,"  said  the  other,  look- 
ing at  a  bottle  of  whisky  in  the  rack,  and  Marston 
rather  wondered  why  he  took  down  the  bottle.  The 
whisky  was  extra  good;  he  did  not  like  mulattoes, 
and  knew  no  reason  for  his  entertaining  his  un- 
invited guest.  Yet  he  put  a  glass  on  the  table;  one 
glass. 

He  imagined  the  other  understood  the  significance 
of  this,  for  his  eyes  momentarily  narrowed.  It  was 
strange,  but  they  now  looked  blue.  For  all  that,  he 
poured  out  a  liberal  measure  of  whisky  and  drank 
slowly,  like  a  connoisseur. 

Marston  studied  him  with  some  curiosity  and  on  the 
whole  felt  repelled.  The  old  fellow  looked  cunning 
and  greedy,  but  not  debased.  One  got  a  hint  of 
cruelty  and  power,  and  his  manner  was  very  calm. 


82  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

In  West  Africa,  Marston  would  perhaps  have  kicked 
him  out,  but  pure  white  men  are  not  numerous  on  the 
south  and  west  coasts  of  the  Caribbean  and  the  dis- 
tinction of  color  is  relaxed.  Besides,  he  reflected,  he 
was  engaged  in  trading  with  the  natives. 

"You  lib  for  here  for  buy  thing,"  the  other  re- 
marked presently.  "  What  thing  you  want?  " 

Marston  mentioned  some  articles  Wyndham  had 
talked  about,  and  the  other  nodded.  "  You  go  make 
me  dash  and  you  get  them  thing.  Agent  man  fool 
man;  him  no  savvy  black  man's  way  in  bush." 

"If  the  stuff  comes  along,  we'll  talk  about  the 
dash,"  Marston  answered  cautiously,  although  he  did 
not  like'his  visitor  and  wondered  when  he  would  go. 

"  When  white  cappy  come  back  ?  "  the  old  fellow 
asked. 

"  In  the  morning,  I  expect,"  said  Marston  with 
a  yawn. 

The  other  got  up  as  if  he  were  going,  and  turned 
sideways  in  order  to  pass  between  the  swing-table 
and  the  locker.  There  was  not  much  room,  for  one 
does  not  lean  against  a  swing-table,  which  keeps  its 
level  by  a  counterbalance  underneath  when  the  vessel 
rolls.  It  looked  as  if  the  mulatto  knew  this,  and 
Marston  thought  it  strange.  Next  moment,  however, 
he  struck  his  naked  foot  against  the  fastenings  in  the 
deck  and,  stumbling,  put  his  arm  on  the  table.  The 
table  tilted  and  the  medicine  chest  slipped  off.  It 
turned  over  as  it  fell  and  emptied  bottles,  packets, 
scales,  and  measures  on  the  deck. 

The  mulatto  looked  at  the  disordered  pile  and  made 
for  the  ladder.  Marston  did  not  stop  him,  although 
he  was  angry,  and  kneeling  down  began  to  pick  up 


THE  LAGOON  83 

the  articles.  The  bottles  were  strong  and  had  not 
broken,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  he  replaced  them  and 
the  other  things  in  the  box.  Then  he  went  up  the 
ladder  and  looked  out  on  deck.  A  lamp  hung  on  the 
forestay  as  a  beacon  for  the  boats  and  one  could  see 
the  sweep  of  planks  and  line  of  the  rail.  There  was 
nobody  about  and  nothing  broke  the  silence.  Beyond 
the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  lamp  it  was  very  dark,  but 
the  night  was  calm  and  Marston  knew  the  splash  of  a 
paddle  would  carry  far. 

He  crossed  the  deck  and  looked  over  the  rail.  The 
water  caught  a  faint  reflection  and  he  saw  muddy 
foam  and  weed  float  past.  The  tide  was  rising  and 
running  up  the  lagoon.  One  could  hardly  wade  to 
land  and  it  was  obviously  impossible  to  do  so  with- 
out making  a  noise.  Yet  his  visitor  had  vanished  and 
he  had  not  heard  him  go.  Marston  remembered 
stories  about  the  Ghost  Leopards  he  had  heard  in 
Africa,  and  laughed,  but  the  laugh  was  forced. 

He  went  back  to  the  cabin  and,  shutting  the  hatch, 
examined  the  medicine  chest.  He  did  not  know  if 
he  was  surprised  to  find  two  articles  had  gone;  one 
was  a  bottle  of  laudanum  and  the  other  a  packet  of 
new  and  powerful  drugs.  The  book  warned  one  to 
be  careful  about  their  use.  Marston  lighted  a 
cigarette  and  pondered.  He  was  not  certain  the  bottle 
and  packet  were  in  the  box  when  he  got  it  down,  al- 
though he  thought  they  were ;  he  had  sometimes  taken 
things  out  when  he  dosed  the  crew  and  he  had  used 
laudanum.  Moreover,  it  looked  impossible  that  the 
mulatto  had  picked  them  up.  So  far  as  Marston  re- 
membered, he  did  stoop  down  or  stop.  Then,  suppos- 
ing he  had  taken  the  stuff,  it  was  hard  to  see  why  a 


84  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

man  who  was  half  a  savage  should  steal  laudanum  and 
the  other  drug. 

If  Obeah  was  like  West  African  Ju-ju,  there  were 
no  doubt  men  who  used  poison  to  support  their  claim 
to  magical  power;  but  strange  and  virulent  poisons 
could  be  extracted  from  tropical  plants.  Besides  the 
fellow  had  given  Marston  a  cure  for  fever.  Perhaps 
he  was  making  a  dangerous  experiment,  but  his 
curiosity  conquered  his  caution  and  he  resolved  to  try 
the  stuff.  Going  to  the  galley,  he  found  some  hot 
water,  and  as  he  came  back  noted  that  one  could  see 
into  the  cabin  through  the  half -opened  skylight.  He 
wondered  whether  the  mulatto  had  looked  down  and 
noted  the  medicine  chest.  The  brown  powder  melted, 
and  he  swallowed  the  draught.  Then  he  got  into  his 
bunk,  and  blowing  out  the  lamp,  presently  went  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX 
DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT 

WHEN  Marston  woke  in  the  morning  his  head- 
ache and  languidness  had  gone.  It  looked  as 
if  the  powder  the  mulatto  had  left  had  cured  him,  and 
although  he  did  not  find  the  laudanum  and  packet  of 
drugs,  he  resolved  he  would  not  bother  about  their 
loss.  In  a  day  or  two,  small  lots  of  rather  valuable 
cargo  began  to  arrive  and  one  afternoon  Marston  and 
Wyndham  lounged  under  the  awning  and  watched  the 
Krooboys  transfer  goods  from  a  big  canoe  to  the 
yacht.  Four  or  five  negroes  from  up  river  put  the 
fiber  packages  in  the  hoisting  slings. 

The  men  worked  slackly,  for  although  the  sun  was 
hidden  the  heat  was  extreme.  A  yellow  haze  cov- 
ered the  sky,  but  the  oily  surface  of  the  lagoon  shim- 
mered with  subdued  light.  On  the  other  side,  the 
reflection  of  the  mangroves  floated  motionless,  with- 
out a  leaf  quivering.  Dark  shadow  lurked  in  the 
caves  under  the  high  roots,  and  here  and  there  the 
massed  foliage  was  touched  by  dirty  white.  Marston 
thought  the  trees  looked  as  if  they  were  blighted  by 
some  foul  disease.  He  hated  the  mangroves  and  the 
smell  of  mud  that  hung  about  the  vessel. 

"  The  tides  are  beginning  to  get  higher,"  he  said. 
"  It  will  be  a  relief  to  leave  this  dismal  spot  and  go  to 
sea." 

"  Calling  here  has  paid  us,"  Wyndham  rejoined. 

85 


86  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  We  are  getting  stuff  for  which  dyers  and  chemists 
give  high  prices ;  stuff  I  wanted  but  hardly  expected 
to  obtain.  In  fact,  I'll  own  your  mysterious  visitor 
has  earned  his  dash.  No  doubt  he'll  turn  up  again  and 
ask  for  it." 

"  D'you  reckon  he  had  much  to  do  with  our  getting 
the  goods?  " 

Wyndham  shrugged.  "  I  understand  he  promised 
you  the  articles  you  talked  about,  and  they  have  ar- 
rived. If  he  comes  again,  I'd  like  to  see  him.  Per- 
haps he  could  be  persuaded  to  send  us  something  else." 

"  He  asked  for  you,"  said  Marston,  and  wondered 
whether  his  remark  was  rash  when  he  saw  Wyndham 
was  pondering.  Although  Bob  felt  he  was  perhaps 
illogical,  he  did  not  want  Harry  to  persuade  the  fellow. 

"  I  think  you  said  his  eyes  were  blue,"  Wyndham 
resumed  presently.  "  Well,  one  does  meet  a  mulatto 
with  blue  eyes  now  and  then,  and  it's  perhaps  not  im- 
portant that  the  bottom  of  his  feet  was  white " 

Wyndham  stopped,  for  a  splash  of  paddles  broke  the 
silence,  and  when  a  canoe  stole  out  of  the  shadow 
across  the  lagoon  Marston  said.  "  We  may  learn 
something  about  him  now.  Here's  your  agent,  Don 
Felix." 

He  thought  Wyndham  was  going  to  reply,  but  he 
hesitated  and  then  crossed  the  deck  as  the  agent  and 
another  man  came  on  board.  Marston  called  the 
steward,  who  put  a  small  table  under  the  awning  and 
brought  out  a  bottle  of  choice  liquor  they  had  bought 
at  the  last  port.  The  party  sat  down  and  Marston 
studied  his  guests.  On  the  whole,  he  liked  Don  Felix 
and  thought  him  honest.  The  fellow's  greasy  fat  face 
was  frank  and  his  black  eyes  met  one's  glance  squarely. 


DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT  87 

For  all  that,  he  thought  he  did  not  look  well ;  there  was 
a  hint  of  strain  about  him  and  his  hand  shook  when  he 
greedily  drained  his  glass.  The  climate,  however,  was 
unhealthy,  and  Marston  turned  to  their  other  guest. 

Father  Sebastian  was  white,  although  his  skin  was 
dark  and  wrinkled.  He  was  very  thin  and  his  thread- 
bare clothes  were  slack;  his  hair  was  white  and  his 
eyes  were  sunk.  He  looked  about  with  a  frank 
curiosity  and  Marston  imagined  it  was  long  since  he 
had  been  on  board  a  ship  and  had  met  civilized  white 
men. 

By  and  by  Don  Felix  began  to  talk  about  the  cargo 
and  declared  that  he  was  puzzled,  because  he  had  not 
received  so  large  a  quantity  of  valuable  goods  for 
some  time. 

"  It  looks  as  if  the  people  in  the  bush  were  working," 
he  remarked  and  added  dryly :  "  They  work  when  they 
are  forced." 

Marston  told  him  about  the  mulatto's  visit,  and 
Don  Felix's  face  got  dark.  He  drained  his  glass  and 
turning  to  Father  Sebastian  repeated  Marston's  story 
in  awkward  French. 

"  I  do  not  like  it,"  he  said,  "  This  foul  Bat !  I  think 
he  is  plotting  again." 

Father  Sebastian  made  a  sign  of  agreement  and  ad- 
dressed Marston,  whose  curiosity  was  obvious.  He 
spoke  slowly,  as  if  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  remember 
words,  but  Marston  thought  his  French  was  good. 

"  An  evil  man !  He  is  called  the  Bat  because  he 
likes  the  dark.  Moreover  they  talk  about  bats  that 
drink  human  blood." 

"If  there  are  such  creatures,  why  don't  you  kill 
them  ? "  Marston  asked  and  glanced  at  Wyndham. 


88  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

He  was  smoking  a  cigarette  and  looked  rather  bored, 
but  Marston  knew  his  friend  and  doubted. 

"  The  Bat  is  hard  to  kill.  Some  have  tried,  but  per- 
haps I  may  be  luckier,"  Don  Felix  answered,  and  his 
fat,  nervous  fingers  touched  his  Spanish  knife.  Then 
he  shrugged.  "  All  the  same,  it  is  possible  he  kills 
me!" 

The  others  said  nothing.  Don  Felix  was  rather 
theatrical,  but  Marston  thought  him  strongly  moved 
by  anger  or  fear.  By  and  by  Don  Felix  went  to  the 
hatch  and  examined  one  or  two  of  the  packages  the 
Krooboys  were  putting  in  the  hold. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  asked.  "  These  packages  have 
a  mark  I  know  but  I  did  not  buy  the  goods." 

"  The  shipper  will,  no  doubt,  come  to  you  for  pay- 
ment and  we'll  engage  to  meet  the  bill,"  Wyndham  re- 
plied. "  The  stuff  is  getting  very  scarce  and  ought  to 
sell  for  a  good  price." 

"  No !  "  exclaimed  Don  Felix  angrily.  "  I  buy 
nothing  with  that  mark!  You  must  stop  the  boys 
loading  the  lot.  Send  it  all  back." 

"Isn't  this  ridiculous?"  Wyndham  asked.  "Why 
do  you  want  us  to  refuse  the  goods?  " 

Don  Felix  sat  down  and  gripped  the  arm  of  his 
chair  hard.  "  The  man  whose  mark  that  is  is  a 
friend  of  the  Bat's,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  got  hoarse. 
"  I  do  not  know  if  the  goods  are  his  or  the  other's, 
but  I  will  not  buy  the  stuff.  Bad  luck  would  go  with 
the  money  one  earned  by  handling  it." 

He  said  something  to  Father  Sebastian  in  rapid 
Creole  French  and  the  priest  turned  to  Wyndham. 

"  It  is  better  that  you  send  back  this  cargo,"  he  re- 


DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT  89 

marked  quietly.  "  Don  Felix  is  an  honest  man.  He 
has  given  you  advice  that  may  cost  him  much." 
Marston  pondered,  with  his  eyes  on  his  guest.  Father 
Sebastian  was  old  and  shabby;  he  had  obviously  lived 
long  with  his  savage  flock,  but  he  was  white.  His 
glance  was  calm  and  thoughtful  and  he  had  a  touch 
of  dignity.  Marston  thought  he  knew  much  about 
human  nature  and  could  be  trusted.  Don  Felix,  how- 
ever, got  up  and  clenched  his  fist.  It  looked  as  if  the 
company  of  the  priest  and  the  others  had  given  him 
some  resolve. 

"  What  do  I  care  about  the  cost  ? "  he  exclaimed 
in  French.  "  I  was  afraid  and  I  paid.  Me,  a  good 
Catholic,  I  paid  that  these  pigs  might  serve  their  devil ! 
But  it  has  gone  on  long,  and  now  I  stop.  This  dirty 
Bat  will  come  between  me  and  my  employer ;  he  leaves 
me  out.  Well,  let  it  be  so !  "  He  paused  and  spread 
out  his  hand  with  a  theatrical  gesture  that  Marston 
thought  was  meant  for  the  negroes  in  the  canoe. 
"  Now  I  fight.  My  trade  is  my  blood.  I  will  kill  this 
Bat!" 

Father  Sebastian  shook  his  head,  but  Don  Felix 
turned  to  Wyndham  and  resumed  in  a  defiant  voice. 
"  You  will  send  back  the  packages?  If  not,  you  must 
get  another  agent." 

"  Very  well,"  agreed  Wyndham.  "  You  can  tell  the 
boys  to  unload  the  goods  you  don't  like." 

He  gave  Don  Felix  a  quick  glance  and  Marston 
wondered  whether  he  expected  him  to  hesitate,  but  the 
mulatto  went  back  to  the  hatch  and  gave  his  orders 
resolutely.  Marston  remembered  that  another  lot  of 
fiber  packages  had  been  stowed  at  the  bottom  of  the 


90  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

hold  before  the  agent  arrived  and  were  now  probably 
out  of  sight.  Wyndham  however,  said  nothing  about 
these  and  filled  Father  Sebastian's  glass. 

"  Our  friend  is  superstitious,"  he  remarked.  "  You 
know  something  about  Obeah,  and  Voodoo  magic. 
I  expect  the  men  who  teach  the  cult  use  cunning  tricks. 
But  how  much  is  trickery  ?  " 

"Ah,"  said  Father  Sebastian,  "Who  can  tell? 
There  are  powers  that  rule  the  dark.  You  know  it 
is  permitted  when  you  have  lived  in  the  gloom.  Per- 
haps Don  Felix  is  superstitious,  but  he  takes  a  hard 
path.  It  is  the  right  path ;  I  think  he  is  brave."  Then 
he  paused  and  smiled.  "  I  am  old  and  have  lived  in 
this  country  long.  There  is  much  about  Voodoo  and 
other  things  that  puzzles  me;  but  this  I  know.  They 
who  walk  in  the  light  need  fear  no  lasting  hurt." 

"  Sometimes  one's  light  gets  dim,"  said  Marston. 

"  That  is  when  we  stray  into  the  shadow  and  our 
eyes  are  dull.  The  light  burns  steadily;  it  will  not  go 
out." 

Don  Felix  came  back  from  the  hatch  and  stopped 
for  dinner.  When  he  and  Father  Sebastian  had  gone, 
Marston  asked  Wyndham :  "  What  about  the  other  lot 
of  goods  that  was  already  in  the  hold?  " 

"  Well?  "  said  Wyndham.  "  Do  you  see  any  object 
for  our  returning  the  stuff?  For  that  matter,  I  don't 
know  to  whom  it  ought  to  be  returned." 

Marston  said  the  goods  could  wait  at  the  village 
until  the  owner  claimed  payment.  "  We  promised 
Don  Felix  we  would  not  take  this  cargo,"  he  added. 

"  You  mean,  I  promised  ? "  Wyndham  rejoined. 
"  My  promise  applied  to  the  particular  lot  he  grum- 


DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT  91 

bled  about.  Anyhow,  I  want  the  goods.  We  can  sell 
them  for  a  high  price." 

Marston  admitted  that  the  argument  was  plausible, 
although  he  doubted  if  it  were  ethically  sound.  Still 
he  must  not  be  fastidiously  critical  about  his  friend. 
He  was  rich  and  free  from  one  kind  of  temptation; 
Harry  was  poor.  Wyndham  noted  his  hesitation  and 
resumed : 

"  Our  voyage  is  not  a  yachting  excursion.  We  are 
frankly  out  for  what  we  can  earn,  and  I'm,  so  to  speak, 
now  on  trial.  I'm  young  and  the  head  of  a  house  that 
people  knew  was  tottering  when  I  took  control.  Chis- 
holm  and  Flora's  relations  have  reserved  their  judg- 
ment; they're  willing  to  give  me  a  fair  chance,  but 
wait  to  see  what  I  can  do.  Well,  you  know  my  draw- 
backs and  how  much  depends  on  my  making  good.  In 
order  to  do  so,  I'll  run  all  risks." 

Marston  thought  there  was  a  risk  Wyndham  did  not 
see.  Flora  Chisholm  was  honest  and  proud.  Her 
lover's  success  would  not  satisfy  her  if  she  disapproved 
the  means  he  used.  This,  however,  was  an  awkward 
subject  and  Marston  owned  that  to  imagine  Harry 
would  give  her  grounds  for  disapproving  was  taking 
much  for  granted.  He  let  the  matter  go  and  began 
to  talk  about  something  else. 

For  all  that,  when  Wyndham  left  him  he  lighted  a 
fresh  cigarette  and  mused.  Harry  was  his  friend, 
but  he  began  to  see  he  had  got  a  habit  of  making  al- 
lowances for  him  that  he  might  not  have  made  for 
others.  Harry  had  a  strange  charm  and  individuality ; 
somehow  one  could  not  judge  him  by  conventional 
rules.  Then  Marston  remembered  that  Mabel  had  let 


92  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

him  go  in  order  that  he  might  be  Harry's  protector, 
but  the  dangers  he  was  to  be  guarded  from  were  not 
physical.  Marston  understood  this  better  now  and 
doubted  if  he  were  clever  enough  for  the  job;  Mabel 
did  not  mean  him  to  be  a  hypercritical  prig.  Anyhow, 
he  had  undertaken  the  job  and  Mabel,  perhaps  rather 
foolishly,  trusted  him.  He  threw  his  cigarette  away 
and  went  off  to  superintend  the  stowage  of  the  cargo. 

The  moon  was  getting  small  and  the  tides  were 
higher  when,  one  evening,  a  messenger  asked  them  to 
come  to  the  village.  They  went  up  river  in  the  mist, 
and  Marston  felt  languid  and  dejected.  The  day  had 
been  very  hot  and  it  was  not  much  cooler  at  dark.  The 
stagnant  air  was  hard  to  breathe,  there  was  something 
daunting  in  the  silence,  and  the  splash  of  paddles 
sounded  harshly  loud.  When  they  landed  they  found 
Don  Felix  alone  in  his  house  except  for  a  half-breed 
woman  and  Father  Sebastian.  He  lay  in  a  fiber  ham- 
mock and  Marston  saw  he  was  very  ill.  His  black  eyes 
were  half  shut,  his  face  was  a  livid  color  and  wet  with 
clammy  sweat. 

The  room  was  brightly  lighted  and  the  half-breed 
woman  sat  on  the  ground  in  a  limp,  huddled  pose, 
with  a  black  shawl  hiding  her  shoulders  and  head. 
She  did  not  move  when  the  others  came  in,  but  Don 
Felix's  glance  hinted  at  relief,  and  Father  Sebastian 
indicated  two  American  bent- wood  chairs  that  looked 
strangely  out  of  harmony  with  the  mud  walls  and 
floor. 

"  If  we  had  known  you  were  ill,  we  would  have 
brought  our  medicine  chest/'  Marston  said.  "  What 
is  the  matter?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  Don  Felix,  dully,  and  Marston 


DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT  93 

imagined  the  Castilian  rejoinder  meant  his  question  ad- 
mitted of  no  reply.  "  I  will  not  live  until  the  morning, 
but  I  have  lived  longer  than  I  sometimes  thought.  It 
does  not  matter  now  the  good  father  and  my  friends 
have  come.  I  am  no  more  afraid." 

Marston  was  puzzled;  somehow  Don  Felix  looked 
afraid.  The  first  part  of  his  statement  was  easier  to 
understand,  because  Marston  had  learned  in  Africa 
that  negroes  and  uncivilized  half-breeds  slip  easily  out 
of  life  and  often  seem  to  know  when  theirs  will  end. 
But  if  Don  Felix  was  not  afraid  to  go,  what  did  he 
fear? 

"  Is  there  nobody  about  ?  Where  are  the  working 
boys  ?  "  Wyndham  asked. 

"  They  have  gone ;  they  know"  Don  Felix  replied, 
and  Marston  felt  half  daunted  as  he  asked  himself ; 
What  did  the  boys  know?  "  But  you  will  stay?  "  the 
ether  went  on  anxiously. 

"Of  course,"  said  Wyndham  in  a  quiet  voice. 

Father  Sebastian  looked  up,  as  if  to  thank  him,  and 
Marston  saw  Harry  had  taken  the  proper  line.  He 
felt  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  persuade  Don  Felix 
he  \vas  not  very  ill.  It  was  significant  that  the  priest 
had  not  tried. 

"  Now  we  will  talk  a  little,"  Don  Felix  said  to 
Wyndham.  "  There  is  some  business  to  talk  about." 

Wyndham  glanced  at  Father  Sebastian,  who  made 
a  sign  of  permission,  and  then  got  up  and  went  to 
the  door  with  Marston.  They  sat  down  on  a  bench 
outside  and  a  beam  of  light  and  the  dull  voices  of  the 
others  came  through  the  door.  Marston  did  not  hear 
the  woman ;  she  had  not  spoken  at  all,  but  sat  motion- 
less and  huddled.  He  had  not  seen  her  face  and  never 


94  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

knew  what  she  was  like.  All  was  quiet  in  the  village, 
and  outside  the  feeble  beam  the  gloom  was  strangely 
deep.  Marstori  sympathized  with  Don  Felix's  liking 
for  plenty  of  light. 

"What  has  caused  his  illness?"  he  asked. 

"  Poison,  I  think,"  Father  Sebastian  replied.  "  Our 
friend  is  a  good  Catholic,  but  he  is  half  persuaded  it  is 
something  else." 

"  The  other  thing's  ridiculous,  though  I  suppose  they 
claim  to  use  magic  in  the  bush.  But  you  ought  to 
know  something  about  native  poisons." 

"  I  know  many,  but  Don  Felix's  symptoms  are 
strange,"  said  Father  Sebastian,  quietly. 

Marston  asked  him  about  the  symptoms  and  care- 
fully noted  his  answers.  Then  he  remarked :  "  I  don't 
altogether  understand  why  the  boys  left  him." 

"  They  were  afraid.  In  this  country,  it  is  rash  to 
help  a  victim  of  Voodoo." 

"  But  they  are  your  people ;  I  mean,  they  belong  to 
your  flock." 

"  They  are  human  and  one  must  not  expect  too  much 
from  men  who  have  long  walked  in  the  gloom.  The 
old  gods  are  powerful." 

"  The  Obeah  gods  are  devils !  "  Marston  declared 
with  an  anger  that  rather  surprised  himself. 

Father  Sebastian  glanced  at  the  surrounding  dark, 
in  which  blurred  trees  vaguely  loomed. 

"  It  is  possible  there  are  devils  yonder.  Things  are 
done  they  would  approve,"  he  remarked  quietly. 

"  I  understand  the  Bat  is  Don  Felix's  enemy.  Do 
you  think  he  poisoned  him?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  we  shall  never  know. 
In  this  country,  many  people  are  poisoned." 


DON  FELIX'S  REVOLT  95 

Marston  clenched  his  fist.  "  Don  Felix  is  Wynd- 
hams'  agent  and  I'm  a  partner  in  the  house.  If  I  find 
out  who  poisoned  him,  I'll  see  the  fellow  is  held  ac- 
countable." 

He  stopped,  for  Wyndham  came  to  the  door,  beckon- 
ing the  priest. 

"  He  wants  you,"  he  said,  and  they  went  in. 

Marston  long  remembered  the  next  hour  or  two. 
At  first  Don  Felix  was  shaken  by  spasms  of  pain  and 
groaned,  but  was  silent  afterwards.  His  eyes  were 
dull  and  half  shut,  and  when  they  opened  wider  they 
turned  apprehensively  to  the  open  door.  Sometimes 
he  glanced  about  the  room  and  Marston  thought  he 
took  courage  when  he  saw  Father  Sebastian  sitting 
near  his  hammock  and  Wyndham  in  the  background. 
Yet  he  was  obviously  afraid  and  his  fear  was  dis- 
turbing. 

For  the  most  part  all  was  very  quiet,  but  some- 
times there  were  noises  that  jarred  Marston's  nerves. 
Although  the  night  was  calm,  leaves  rustled  in  the 
dark  and  one  heard  sounds  like  the  stealthy  tread  of 
naked  feet.  Marston  fancied  shadows  lurked  about 
the  edge  of  the  beam  from  the  door  and  found  it  hard 
to  persuade  himself  he  was  deceived,  although  he  knew 
nobody  was  there.  For  a  minute  or  two  moisture 
splashed  outside,  as  if  somebody  had  struck  a  branch 
and  shaken  down  big  drops.  The  noise  stopped  and 
Marston  felt  the  silence  worse. 

Now  and  then  he  glanced  at  Wyndham.  The  latter 
did  not  move  and  looked  straight  in  front,  but  his 
quietness  was  significant  and  his  mouth,  was  firm. 
Marston  imagined  he  bore  some  strain,  but  it  was 
often  hard  to  tell  what  Harry  felt  and  thought.  At 


96  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

length,  Don  Felix  moved  his  hand  awkwardly,  as  if 
he  felt  for  something  to  which  he  could  cling,  and  the 
slack  movement  did  not  stop  until  he  felt  Father  Se- 
bastian's grasp.  His  haunted  look  was  plainer,  al- 
though he  was  now  too  weak  to  glance  at  the  door.  It 
jarred  Marston  strangely,  and  getting  up  he  went  out. 

Half-an-hour  afterwards  there  was  a  wild  cry  in 
the  house  and  Marston  shivered.  It  was  the  woman's 
voice  and  he  knew  why  she  had  cried  out.  Then 
Wyndham  came  to  the  door,  and  standing  with  his 
back  against  the  light,  looked  about  for  his  comrade. 

"  We  need  not  stay  now,"  he  said.  "  He  was  calm 
at  the  last  and  had  all  the  consolation  Father  Sebastian 
could  give  him.  An  honest  man,  and  brave,  I  think, 
believing  what  it's  obvious  he  did  believe!  " 

"  He  trusted  you,"  Marston  remarked,  meaningly. 

"  It's  possible  he  found  our  being  about  some  help. 
We  stayed  while  we  were  needed." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  Marston  rejoined. 
"If  ever  I  saw  a  man  fight  with  fear,  I  watched  the 
horrible  battle  to-night!  The  fellow  was  your  agent 
and  somebody  who  destroyed  his  body  sent  an  un- 
thinkable horror  to  torment  his  mind.  The  thing's 
devilish !  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  said  Wyndham.  "  I  have  noth- 
ing to  go  upon." 

Marston  made  a  sign  of  agreement,  but  his  face  was 
very  stern.  "  Some  day,  perhaps,  we'll  find  out  who's 
accountable.  I  mean  to  try." 

Wyndham  said  nothing  and  they  went  back  to  the 
canoe. 


CHAPTER  X 

MARSTON    USES    HIS   POWER 

SOON  after  Don  Felix  was  buried  two  strangers 
visited  the  schooner.  One  was  white  but  so 
burned  by  the  sun  and  worn  by  the  climate  that  he 
looked  like  a  native.  Peters  was  agent  for  a  Hamburg 
merchant  house  with  a  factory  on  a  neighboring  la- 
goon, and  told  Wyndham  he  had  come  because  he  sel- 
dom met  a  white  man.  The  other  was  a  government 
officer  and  stated,  apologetically,  that  his  business  was 
to  make  a  few  inquiries  about  Don  Felix's  death.  His 
skin  was  nearly  white,  but  his  coarse  lips  and  short, 
curling  hair  indicated  a  strain  of  negro  blood. 

Marston  knew  something  about  the  officials  who 
held  small  posts  on  the  Caribbean  coast.  For  the  most 
part,  they  were  mulattos,  paid  low  wages  and  willing 
to  augment  the  latter  by  presents  and  bribes.  As  a 
rule,  he  had  found  them  good-humored  and  indolent, 
and  he  imagined  Don  Ramon  Larrinaga  would  be  sat- 
isfied with  a  few  particulars  and  a  little  money.  There 
was,  he  thought,  no  use  in  trying  to  put  him  on  the 
track  of  the  unknown  poisoner.  He  let  Wyndham 
take  the  man  to  the  cabin  and  sat  under  the  awning  on 
deck  with  Peters,  for  whom  he  opened  a  bottle  of 
vermouth. 

Peters  knew  much  about  the  country  and  told  him 
some  rather  curious  stories.  He  looked  shriveled  and 
desiccated,  but  his  glance  was  keen  and  Marston 

97 


98  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

imagined  he  was  very  shrewd.  Marston,  however,  did 
not  study  him  much;  it  was  enough  that  he  was  an 
amusing  companion  while  Wyndham  was  occupied. 
By-and-by  the  latter  opened  the  cabin  scuttle  and 
beckoned. 

"  You  have  some  paper  money,  Bob.  Lend  me  a 
few  bills,"  he  said. 

Marston  asked  the  sum  he  wanted  and  was  sur- 
prised when  Wyndham  told  him. 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  give  him  so  much  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Perhaps  it's  advisable.  We'll  soon  be  ready  for 
sea  and  I  expect  the  fellow  could  keep  us  here  while 
he  made  fresh  inquiries  and  wrote  reports.  He's 
polite,  but  he  rather  hinted  something  like  that.  Of 
course,  he  has  no  notion  of  really  finding  out  why 
Don  Felix  died." 

"  We  want  to  find  out,"  Marston  rejoined. 

Wyndham  smiled.  "  That's  another  thing;  the  gov- 
ernment officials  don't  want  to  bother.  If  we  knew 
who  was  accountable,  it  would  be  hard  to  get  them  to 
move.  However,  Don  Ramon  is  waiting " 

Marston  took  out^his  wallet  and  after  giving 
Wyndham  some  money  went  back  to  Peters,  whose 
eyes  twinkled. 

"  Your  partner  knows  the  customs  of  the  coun- 
try," he  remarked.  "  On  the  whole,  it  pays  to  be 
generous.  In  a  climate  like  this,  it's  prudent  to  save 
oneself  unnecessary  trouble." 

"  We  don't  want  to  avoid  trouble,"  Marston  replied. 
"  If  I  was  persuaded  our  agent  was  poisoned  and  could 
get  on  the  poisoner's  track,  I'd  use  some  energy  to 
follow  it  up." 

Peters  shrugged.     "  You  can  do  nothing ;  better  let 


MARSTON  USES  HIS  POWER         99 

it  rest.  In  the  fever  swamps,  men  who  are  well  one 
day  often  die  the  next.  It  is  possible  they  have  an 
enemy  in  the  bush,  but  the  law  does  not  reach  up 
yonder.  Sickness  is  common  and  human  life  is 
cheap." 

They  talked  about  something  else  until  Wyndham 
and  Larrinaga  came  on  the  deck.  The  latter  bowed 
to  Marston  when  his  canoe  was  paddled  to  the  gang- 
way. 

"  I  thank  you  and  your  partner,  sefior,"  he  said. 
"  If  I  can  be  of  help,  remember  I  am  your  servant." 

"  It  was  nothing,"  Marston  replied.  "  I  expect 
Sefior  Wyndham  has  told  you  all  we  know,  but  if  you 
can  find  out  anything  important,  you'll  earn  our  grati- 
tude. The  man  who  tells  me  why  Don  Felix  died  can 
count  on  his  reward." 

Peters  gave  him  a  curious  glance  and  smiled. 
"  After  all,  the  reward  may  perhaps  be  claimed.  It  is 
not  likely,  I  admit,  but  things  one  does  not  look  for 
sometimes  happen." 

He  got  into  the  canoe  and  when  the  negroes  paddled 
off  Marston  leaned  against  the-jrail. 

"  I  suppose  we  need  expect  nothing  from  Larrin- 
aga," he  remarked.  "  How  much  did  you  tell  him?  " 

"  All  I  thought  it  useful  for  him  to  "know,"  said 
Wyndham,  rather  dryly.  "  He's  a  common  type ;  lazy 
and  greedy.  Now  he's  got  his  bribe,  I  don't  suppose 
he'll  bother  us.  What  did  you  think  about  the 
other?" 

"  I  didn't  study  him  much.  Amusing  fellow,  but 
you  get  a  hint  of  force.  I  imagine  he's  clever  and  a 
man  who  can  hold  on.  Anyhow,  he  doesn't  matter, 
since  it's  improbable  we'll  see  him  again.  We'll  have 


loo  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  holds  full  in  a  day  or  two  and  I've  had  enough  of 
the  lagoon." 

"  All  the  same,  I'm  rather  afraid  we  can't  get 
away  just  yet." 

Marston  began  to  grumble,  but  Wyndham  smiled. 

"  There  are  things  to  straighten  out  and  now  we 
have  no  agent  I  may  be  needed,  but  it  won't  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  stay.  In  fact,  I'd  like  you  to  take  the 
schooner  to  the  next  port  and  transship  the  cargo. 
Then  you  could  come  back  for  me  and  the  extra  load 
I  half  expect,  but  I'll  know  more  when  I've  been  to  the 
village,  and  we'll  talk  about  this  again." 

Wyndham  started  for  the  village  next  day,  and 
when  it  was  getting  dark  Marston  lounged  on  deck 
looking  out  for  the  boat.  Some  of  the  crew  had 
gone  with  Wyndham,  the  rest  were  in  the  forecastle, 
and  except  for  the  cook  at  the  galley  door  Marston  had 
the  deck  to  himself.  The  yacht  was  slowly  lifting 
with  the  tide,  which  spread  across  the  mud  banks  in 
the  lagoon.  Thin  mist  drifted  about  the  mangroves 
and  there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind.  The  water  glim- 
mered with  faint  reflections  but  in  a  few  minutes  it 
would  be  dark. 

Presently  Marston,  looking  over  the  rail,  imagined 
there  was  somebody  behind  him  on  the  deck.  For  a 
moment  or  two,  however,  he  did  not  turn.  He  had 
heard  no  step  and  had  recently  felt  himself  highly 
strung.  It  looked  as  if  Don  Felix's  death  had  given 
him  a  jar,  but  he  was  not  going  to  indulge  his  shaken 
nerves.  Still  he  felt  there  was  somebody  about  and 
he  slowly  and  deliberately  looked  round.  The  mulatto 
who  had  visited  him  before  squatted  on  the  deck,  as  if 
he  had  been  there  some  time.  Marston  thought  he 


MARSTON  USES  HIS  POWER       101 

saw  amusement  in  his  wrinkled  face  and  his  anger 
arose. 

"  Cappy  Wyndham  lib  for  on  board?"  the  old  fel- 
low asked. 

"  He  is  not  on  board,"  said  Marston  roughly. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

'  You  done  get  them  cargo?  " 

"  We  did.  I  don't  know  if  you  had  much  to  do 
with  it,  but  I  suppose  you  expect  your  dash.  What 
would  you  like?  Money?" 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "  Money  no  good.  My 
friend  sick  too  much.  You  dash  me  some  medicine." 

Marston  remembered  the  packet  of  drugs  and  found 
it  needful  to  use  some  control.  He  did  not  know  if  the 
mulatto  was  the  Bat  or  not,  but  on  the  whole  thought 
he  was  and  the  horror  of  his  watch  at  Don  Felix's 
house  was  fresh.  Yet  he  had  nothing  to  go  upon  and 
would  not  be  justified  in  throwing  the  fellow  over- 
board. The  other  watched  him  with  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  although  his  face  was  inscrutable,  Marston  began 
to  feel  uneasy.  He  wondered  whether  the  fellow  was 
something  of  a  hypnotist,  for  he  got  a  hint  of  force; 
force  that  he  thought  malevolent.  Looking  forward 
along  the  deck,  he  imagined  he  saw  the  cook  at  the 
galley  door,  but  the  indistinct  figure  vanished  and 
Marston  felt  it  was  significant  that  the  negro  had  gone 
inside.  Then  he  braced  himself  and  looked  back. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  medicine,  but  since  we  did 
get  the  cargo,  perhaps  you  deserve  something,"  he  said. 
"  Wait  a  minute." 

Going  to  the  cabin,  he  opened  a  locker  in  which  they 
had  put  a  quantity  of  African  trade  goods.  The  stuff 
was  rubbish,  made  to  please  the  negro's  eye;  brass, 


102  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

jewelry,  cheap  scent,  colored  flannel  jackets,  and  frail 
umbrellas.  Marston  picked  up  as  much  as  he  could 
carry  and  was  conscious  of  rather  dry  amusement 
as  he  climbed  the  ladder.  His  visitor  had  obviously 
learned  English  in  West  Africa  and  he  was  going  to 
give  him  the  usual  African  dash,  but  he  knew  the 
old  fellow  had  no  use  for  the  stuff.  It  was  like  giving 
a  philosopher  a  child's  toy. 

"  There  you  are !  "  said  Marston,  throwing  down  the 
articles.  "  Now  get  off!  " 

"  I  lib  for  see  Cappy  Wyndham,"  the  other  objected. 

"Get  off  the  ship,"  said  Marston.  "Don't  come 
back!" 

He  wondered  how  the  man  would  go.  There  was 
no  canoe  about  and  the  water  round  the  vessel  was 
three  or  four  feet  deep ;  she  lay  obliquely  to  the  beach. 
It  was  ridiculous  to  imagine  the  other  had  vanished 
on  his  last  visit,  but  Marston  had  not  seen  how  he 
went.  Now,  however,  he  meant  to  watch. 

The  mulatto  picked  up  the  load  of  rubbish  and  went 
forward  along  the  deck.  He  jumped  on  the  end  of  the 
bowsprit  and  Marston  smiled,  for  it  looked  as  if  he 
could  not  use  his  tricks  when  one  kept  one's  eye  on 
him.  Balancing  himself  cautiously,  he  walked  along 
the  spar  and  melted  in  the  dark.  But  in  a  few  mo- 
ments there  was  a  splash  and  Marston  knew  he  had 
dropped  from  the  bowsprit's  end  into  shallow  water. 
Somehow  this  was  soothing  and  he  went  to  the  cabin. 
In  an  hour  or  two  Wyndham  returned  and  when  they 
lighted  their  pipes  after  supper  Marston  remarked : 

'  The  old  fellow  Don  Felix  imagined  was  the  Bat 
turned  up  again." 

"  Ah."    said    Wyndham,    who    looked    interested. 


MARSTON  USES  HIS  POWER       103 

"  Don  Felix  hadn't  seen  him ;  we  don't  know  he  is  the 
Bat." 

"  Father  Sebastian  agreed  that  he  was,  and  I  haven't 
much  doubt.  He  said  the  man  was  evil  and  I  think 
evil's  the  proper  word.  He  gives  me  a  strange  nervous 
shrinking.  Have  you  felt  a  kind  of  nausea  when  you 
looked  at  something  repulsive?  Well,  I  feel  like  that 
when  he's  about." 

"  As  a  rule,  you  don't  let  your  imagination  carry 
you  away."  Wyndham  remarked.  "  I  expect  the 
heat  and  the  dismal  surroundings  account  for  much." 

"  Anyhow,  I  gave  him  a  dash  and  ordered  him  off 
the  boat." 

Wyndham  glanced  up  rather  sharply.  "Why? 
We  have  got  some  valuable  goods,  and  although  we'll 
have  to  pay  their  owners,  it  looks  as  if  the  old  fellow 
was  useful." 

"  I  don't  want  any  goods  he  sends,"  Marston  re- 
joined. "  My  notion  is  they're  better  left  alone. 
Then  I'm  a  partner,  and  although  I  haven't  meddled 
much,  I  felt  I  ought  to  use  my  power." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Wyndham.  "  You  are  a  partner, 
I  suppose  we  must  let  it  go." 

They  talked  about  something  else  and  next  evening 
Marston  took  the  schooner's  dinghy  and  rowed  down 
the  lagoon.  He  had  heard  curlew  whistle  in  the  dark 
and  wondered  whether  the  birds  were  as  wild  as  they 
are  in  England.  For  a  time  he  followed  the  edge  of 
the  mangroves,  where  water  dripped  from  the  arched 
roots,  and  amphibious  things  splashed  in  the  muddy 
caves;  and  then  skirted  a  sloppy  bank  the  tide  flowed 
across.  Now  and  then  he  saw  a  curlew  but  did  not 
get  a  shot,  and  by  and  by  he  put  down  the  oars.  The 


104  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

damp  heat  was  enervating  and  he  rested  and  looked 
about. 

It  would  soon  be  dark  and  the  mangroves  cut  in  a 
straight  black  line  against  a  fading  orange  glow.  The 
land-breeze  began  to  shake  the  leaves  and  now  and 
then  a  pale  branch  moved.  All  was  very  quiet  but  for 
the  dull  rumble  of  the  surf  outside.  Marston  felt 
languid  and  vaguely  disturbed.  There  was  something 
about  Wyndham  that  puzzled  him.  When  they  were 
at  sea  he  did  not  want  a  better  friend,  but  it  was  dif- 
ferent when  they  went  ashore  to  trade.  Well,  he  had 
come  to  look  after  Harry  and  now  understood  better 
why  Mabel  had  let  him  go.  Perhaps  Harry  really 
needed  to  be  looked  after.  Marston  was  staunch,  but 
he  knew  Mabel  had  not  altogether  trusted  his  comrade. 

There  was  another  thing;  he  must  soon  sail  the 
schooner  to  the  next  port  and  he  wanted  to  go,  but 
Harry  meant  to  stay.  Marston  did  not  like  this,  al- 
though he  could  think  of  no  logical  objection.  The 
mulatto's  visits  bothered  him.  The  fellow  had  asked 
for  Wyndham  and  somehow  Marston  would  sooner 
they  did  not  meet.  Perhaps  the  thing  was  ridiculous, 
but  he  felt  like  that. 

It  got  dark  and  although  there  was  no  obvious 
reason  for  his  return  he  felt  he  ought  to  get  back  to 
the  yacht.  Recently  he  had  felt  highly  strung.  This 
was,  no  doubt,  the  consequence  of  pottering  about  the 
unhealthy  swamps,  but  he  must  control  his  illogical 
impulses  and  he  lighted  his  pipe  while  he  let  the  dinghy 
drift  with  the  tide. 

She  floated  quietly  up  the  lagoon  and  presently  he 
saw  Columbine's  lights  in  the  mist.  Pulling  a  few 
languid  strokes,  he  let  the  boat  drift  again  until  the 


MARSTON  USES  HIS  POWER       105 

vessel's  dark  side  was  close  ahead.  Then  he  put  out 
his  hand  and  seized  a  rope.  He  wore  rubber  boots, 
because  he  had  thought  he  might  wade  across  the  mud, 
and  made  no  noise  when  he  stepped  down  from  the 
rail.  There  was  nobody  on  deck,  but  a  light  shone  in 
the  cabin  and  when  he  went  aft  he  heard  voices.  The 
skylight  was  open  and  one  of  the  voices  was  the  old 
mulatto's. 

Marston  stopped  abruptly.  He  wanted  to  go  down 
and  turn  out  the  fellow,  but  doubted  if  he  would  be 
justified,  although  he  was  Wyndham's  partner.  Some- 
how it  was  unthinkable  the  brute  and  his  comrade 
should  engage  in  quiet  talk.  For  all  that,  he  did  not 
go,  and  turning  back  a  few  yards  stopped  again.  He 
must  not  be  a  fool,  and  no  doubt  the  fellow  had  come 
to  talk  about  some  goods  his  friends  in  the  bush  could 
supply.  Marston  did  not  want  the  goods,  but  forced 
himself  to  wait. 

F>y  and  by  a  shadowy  figure  came  out  from  the 
cabin  hatch.  It  made  no  noise  and  Marston  would 
not  have  seen  it  had  not  the  indistinct  black  object  for 
a  moment  cut  against  the  light.  Outside  the  beam 
from  the  open  hatch  all  was  misty  and  dark.  Still 
Marston  thought  the  fellow  knew  he  was  there,  be- 
cause he  vanished  as  if  he  had  gone  behind  the  mast. 
Marston  did  not  bother  about  him  and  went  down  to 
the  cabin. 

There  was  liquor  on  the  table  and  Wyndham  had 
obviously  just  drained  the  glass  he  held.  His  hand 
shook  as  he  put  it  down,  his  face  was  rather  white, 
and  diops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead.  It  looked 
as  if  he  had  got  a  knock,  although  Marston  knew 
Harry's  nerve  was  good. 


106  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  I  couldn't  get  near  the  curlew,  so  I  came  back," 
he  remarked,  awkwardly. 

Wyndham  looked  up,  with  an  obvious  effort  for 
calm.  "  Oh,  well,  since  you  are  here,  you  might  turn 
out  the  boys  and  heave  up  the  slack  cable." 

Marston  noted  that  Wyndham's  voice  was  hoarse, 
but  thought  it  better  to  conquer  his  curiosity.  Harry 
might  give  him  his  confidence  later,  and  in  the  mean- 
time to  heave  the  cable  taut  would  obviate  their  bring- 
ing the  boys  up  again.  The  tide  was  rising  and  they 
wanted  to  float  the  schooner  off  the  mud.  He  Avent 
forward  to  call  the  crew  and  the  clank  of  the  windlass 
and  rattle  of  chain  were  soothing,  since  they  indicated 
that  Columbine  was  ready  for  sea.  Marston  owned 
that  he  would  be  glad  to  get  away  from  the  lagoon. 
He  was  occupied  for  some  time  and  when  he  went 
back  to  the  cabin  Wyndham  looked  calm. 

"  We'll  keep  her  off  the  beach  after  this,"  he  said. 
"  Sorry  you  didn't  get  a  shot.  The  curlew  seem  as 
wild  as  they  are  at  home." 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  take  the  beach  again,"  Mars- 
ton  remarked.  "  When  do  we  sail  ?  " 

"  You'll  sail  as  soon  as  the  pilot  thinks  there's  water 
enough  on  the  bar.  He  comes  to-morrow." 

"  But  you  mean  to  stay?  " 

"  I  must  stay,"  said  Wyndham.  "  We  haven't  an 
agent  and  I'm  on  the  track  of  some  business  I  can't 
neglect." 

Marston  saw  there  was  no  use  in  urging  his  com- 
rade to  go.  Harry's  mouth  was  ominously  firm.  He 
wondered  whether  Harry  would  tell  him  what  the 
mulatto  had  talked  about,  but  he  did  not  and  soon  after 
supper  they  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MARSTON    GOES    TO    SEA 

THE  new  moon  shone  in  a  clear  sky  and  the  tide 
was  nearly  full.  Puffs  of  warm  land-breeze 
shook  the  mangroves  and  drove  small  ripples  against 
Columbine's  side.  She  rode  to  the  flood  stream,  ready 
for  sea,  and  the  clank  of  her  windlass  rolled  across  the 
swamps.  The  negro  crew  were  shortening  cable  and 
sang  as  they  hove  at  the  levers. 

\Yyndham  was  talking  to  Peters,  who  had  arrived 
in  the  afternoon,  and  Marston,  standing  near  them, 
frowned.  He  was  annoyed  that  Peters  had  come,  be- 
cause he  had  wanted  to  talk  to  Wyndham  and  after 
the  other's  arrival  this  was  impossible.  It  was  unlucky 
he  had  put  it  off,  but  he  did  not  see  why  Harry  had 
urged  the  fellow  to  stay  and  go  back  to  the  village 
with  him  when  the  schooner  sailed.  Marston  felt 
rather  hurt,  since  it  almost  looked  as  if  Harry  had 
kept  Peters  in  order  to  prevent  him  trying  to  satisfy 
his  curiosity. 

Marston  was  curious.  The  old  mulatto  had  told 
Harry  something  that  had  given  him  a  bad  jar;  Bob 
could  not  forget  his  comrade's  strained  look  when  he 
entered  the  cabin,  and  he  had  found  no  clew  to  the 
puzzle.  It  was  a  relief  to  go  to  sea,  but  the  satis- 
faction he  had  expected  to  get  was  dulled.  He  felt 
as  if  he  were  running  away  and  leaving  his  partner 
when  the  latter  needed  him.  Yet  somebody  must  go 
and  Harry  would  not. 

107 


io8  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"Short  up,  sah!"  a  Krooboy  shouted  when  the 
windlass  stopped.  The  pilot  gave  an  order,  and  the 
foresail  began  to  rise  with  a  rattle  of  blocks.  The 
canvas  flapped  and  swelled,  and  Marston  went  for- 
ward. 

"  Break  out  the  anchor,"  he  said.  "  Hoist  the  inner 
jib." 

Dark  figures  rose  and  fell  with  the  windlass-bars; 
slowly  at  first,  then  faster,  as  with  a  harsh  clank  the 
chain  ran  through  the  pipe.  Marston  had  generally 
found  the  noise  inspiriting.  It  hinted  at  adventure  on 
the  open  sea,  but  it  did  not  move  him  now;  he  was 
not  leaving  the  lagoon  for  good.  Yet  he  was  soothed 
when  Columbine  began  to  move.  After  lying  on  the 
mud,  he  liked  to  feel  her  lift  as  she  met  the  gentle 
swell  the  tide  brought  in,  and  hear  the  ripple  splash 
about  her  bows.  The  mangroves  stole  past,  a  gap 
opened  in  the  trees,  and  a  faintly-glittering  track  led 
out  to  sea. 

"  Hoist  the  mainsail,"  said  the  pilot,  and  the  splash 
of  ripples  was  louder  when  the  dark  canvas  rose. 

She  drove  out  with  the  land-breeze  and  met  the 
rollers  on  the  bar.  They  were  not  high  and  hardly 
broke,  only  one  here  and  there  melting  into  foam. 
She  lurched  across  with  dry  decks,  and  when  the 
leadsman  got  deeper  water  the  pilot  brought  her  round 
and  pulled  up  his  canoe.  Marston  went  to  the  gang- 
way with  Wyndham  and  Peters,  and  the  latter  laughed 
as  he  gave  him  his  hand. 

"  I  don't  know  if  we'll  meet  again,  but  it's  possible," 
he  said.  "  You  offered  a  good  reward  for  some  in- 
formation not  long  since.  I  wonder  whether  you  were 
rash." 


MARSTON  GOES  TO  SEA  109 

"  The  offer  stands,"  Marston  replied.  "  The  man 
who  tells  me  all  about  our  agent's  death  will  find  me 
generous." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Peters.  "  I  can't  state  that  I  ex- 
pect to  claim  the  reward,  but  after  all  I  might.  Then 
I  hope  we'll  both  be  satisfied." 

Marston  let  him  go.  He  would  have  given  much 
for  ten  minutes'  frank  talk  with  Wyndham,  but  this 
was  impossible.  The  pilot  was  waiting  and  the  yacht 
drifting  near  a  dangerous  shoal.  He  resigned  himself 
and  gave  his  comrade  his  hand. 

"  Run  no  risks  and  take  care  of  yourself  until  I 
come  back,"  he  said. 

"  Good  luck !  "  said  Wyndham  and  jumped  into  the 
canoe. 

Marston  signed  to  the  steersman,  the  sails  filled, 
and  the  canoe  dropped  astern.  Columbine  gathered 
speed  and  listed  down,  throwing  spray  about  while 
the  water  foamed  below  her  lee  rail.  Small  white 
waves  rolled  down  the  glittering  track  ahead  and 
Marston's  mood  got  lighter.  After  all,  it  was  a  relief 
to  put  to  sea ;  the  salt  wind  was  tonic  and  blew  morbid 
thoughts  away.  It  was  bracing  to  grapple  with  break- 
ing waves  and  savage  squalls. 

He  looked  astern.  The  canoe  had  vanished  and  a 
misty  line  indicated  the  land.  Marston  was  conscious 
of  a  strange  repugnance  as  he  watched  it  fade.  Sick- 
ness lurked  in  the  steamy  forest,  where  the  gloom  was 
touched  by  mystery  and  something  of  horror.  For  a 
time,  he  had  done  with  it,  and  he  would  come  back 
strengthened  and  invigorated  by  the  change. 

He  gave  the  helmsman  the  course,  and  going  to  the 
cabin,  opened  a  tin  box  that  held  letters  for  England 


no  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

and  manifests  of  cargo.  He  must  copy  these  out  on 
the  bills  of  lading  when  he  transshipped  the  goods  and 
as  he  studied  the  lists  he  felt  some  surprise.  Co- 
lumbine did  not  carry  much  but  her  freight  was 
valuable.  Some  had  been  put  on  board  without  his 
knowing  and  he  thought  it  strange  Wyndham  had  not 
talked  about  its  cost.  For  example,  there  were  small 
pearls.  One  found  pearls  at  places  on  the  Caribbean, 
but  the  fisheries  were  jealously  guarded  and  none  were 
near  the  lagoon.  Then  there  was  a  packet  of  am- 
bergris and  Marston  knew  ambergris  was  worth  much. 
Don  Felix  had  said  nothing  about  this  curious  stuff, 
which  the  cachalot  whales  throw  up,  and  Marston  won- 
dered where  Wyndham  had  got  it. 

The  voyage  was  obviously  going  to  pay,  but  the 
strange  thing  was,  their  cargo  for  the  most  part  had 
come  down  after  the  agent  died.  To  some  extent  this 
bore  out  Marston's  conclusion  that  the  old  mulatto 
was  the  Bat  and  had  power  over  Don  Felix's  un- 
civilized customers.  Marston  began  to  muse  about  the 
fellow.  He  had  power;  one  felt  it,  although  he  was 
old  and  repulsive.  Something  indicated  that  he  had 
inherited  from  his  white  ancestors  qualities  not  often 
found  in  half-breeds.  Marston  began  to  see  that  this 
was  partly  why  the  fellow  repelled  him ;  one  got  a  hint 
of  intelligence  put  to  a  base  use. 

The  matter  was  not  important,  and  he  pondered 
about  his  finding  Wyndham  and  the  other  in  the  cabin. 
Harry  was  badly  shaken,  although  Marston  knew  his 
pluck.  Something  very  strange  and  startling  was 
needed  to  drive  the  blood  from  his  face  and  bring  the 
sweat  to  his  forehead.  All  the  same,  it  was  ridiculous 
to  imagine  the  mulatto  had  frightened  him.  The  old 


MARSTON  GOES  TO  SEA  1 1 1 

fellow  was  clever  and  no  doubt  claimed  to  be  a  ma- 
gician in  the  bush,  but  Harry  was  not  the  man  to  be 
cheated  by  his  tricks.  After  a  time,  Marston  gave  it 
up  and  went  on  deck. 

Columbine  leaned  over  to  the  steady  breeze.  The 
sea  was  flecked  with  white  and  a  spray  shower  leaped 
about  her  bows.  A  foaming  wake  trailed  behind  her 
and  Marston's  heart  got  light  as  he  heard  the  shrouds 
hum  and  felt  her  measured  swing.  He  liked  the  sense 
of  speed  and  buoyancy,  the  feeling  that  he  had  control 
of  straining  wood  and  sail.  To  fight  the  sudden  wild 
Northers  and  keep  her  off  reefs  and  shoals  was  a 
man's  job,  but  it  was  a  job  he  knew.  He  did  not 
know  the  other  that  Mabel  had  given  him,  and  often 
felt  puzzled.  Yet  he  had  undertaken  it  and  meant 
to  make  good.  By-and-by  he  went  down  to  the  cabin 
and  to  bed. 

After  a  quick  run  he  reached  port,  transacted  some 
business,  shipped  his  cargo  home  by  steamer,  and  then 
returned  to  the  lagoon,  where  he  found  Wynclham 
had  another  load  ready.  On  the  night  after  his  ar- 
rival they  sat  in  the  cabin,  talking,  and  although 
Wyndham  said  nothing  about  the  mulatto  he  was 
frank.  Indeed,  Marston  smiled  when  he  remembered 
the  doubts  with  which  he  had  left  his  comrade.  All 
the  same,  he  thought  he  noted  something  about  Harry 
he  had  not  known  before. 

"  You  will  sail  again  as  soon  as  we  can  load  the 
cargo,  but  for  another  port,"  Wyndham  said.  "  \Ye 
have,  so  to  speak,  found  a  treasure  house  and  want  to 
keep  it  dark.  If  other  folks  get  to  know,  the  treasure 
will  soon  be  picked  up.  Anybody  can  buy  a  pretty 
good  chart  of  the  coast  for  a  few  shillings,  and  we  have 


112  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

been  lucky  so  far,  largely  because  the  shoals  keep 
steamers  out." 

"  The  thing  will  be  known  sometime,"  Marston  re- 
marked. 

"Of  course,  but  I  hope  to  get  the  most  part  of 
the  stuff  that's  worth  getting  before  our  rivals  come 
in." 

"  After  that  you'll  let  this  branch  of  the  business 
go?" 

"  I  think  not,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  If  I  can  find 
a  good  agent,  we  ought  to  hold  our  ground  in  the 
regular  trade,  although  the  profits  will  not  be  large." 

"  But  you,  yourself,  don't  mean  to  stay  very  long?  " 

"  No,"  said  Wyndham.  "  When  I  get  the  best  of 
the  produce  that  seems  to  have  been  piling  up  and  ap- 
point our  agent,  I'll  willingly  clear  out;  but  I  don't 
expect  to  do  so  for  three  or  four  months.  I've  got  my 
chance  now  and  must  seize  it." 

"  Three  months  is  a  long  time  to  stay  at  the  lagoon. 
Besides,  who  will  look  after  the  business  at  home?" 

"  My  manager  is  pretty  capable,  though  he's  young 
and  recently  promoted.  Would  you  like  to  go?" 

Marston  laughed.  "  I'm  not  a  business  man. 
Would  you  trust  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  rash.  You're  a  careful 
fellow,  Bob,  and  it  begins  to  look  as  if  you  had  talents 
you  didn't  know.  You  have  transacted  our  business 
like  a  shipping  clerk." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Marston  hesitated.  Wynd- 
ham looked  amused  and  Bob  admitted  that  the  situa- 
tion had  a  touch  of  humor.  He  meant  to  stay  at  a 
place  for  which  he  had  a  strange,  superstitious  dislike, 


MARSTON  GOES  TO  SEA  113 

in  order  to  help  his  comrade,  who  would  sooner  be 
left  alone. 

"  I  may  go  by-and-by,  but  I  won't  go  yet,"  he  re- 
plied. 

They  let  the  matter  drop  and  in  the  morning 
Wyndham  went  up  the  creek  in  the  boat.  He  stated, 
rather  vaguely,  that  he  must  arrange  about  some  cargo 
and  it  was  three  or  four  days  before  he  returned. 
Then  Marston  sailed  with  another  load  for  a  dif- 
ferent port,  and  the  French  Creole  who  shipped  the 
goods  to  England  was  frankly  surprised  by  their 
value.  Indeed,  his  remarks  indicated  that  the  freight 
was  worth  much  more  than  Marston  had  thought. 
The  latter  returned  to  the  lagoon,  satisfied  in  one  way. 
but  disturbed  in  another,  and  did  not  see  much  of  his 
comrade. 

Wyndham  often  left  the  vessel,  and  although  he  did 
not  tell  Marston  where  he  went,  the  loaded  canoes  that 
came  down  the  creek  hinted  that  he  was  usefully  en- 
gaged. It  was  plain  that  the  business  was  remark- 
ably profitable,  but  Marston  imagined  Wyndham  was 
overdoing  the  thing.  He  began  to  look  worn  and  was 
sometimes  moody,  for  a  white  man  cannot  strain  brain 
and  body  hard  in  the  tropic  swamps. 

Marston  got  uneasy  about  him,  but  to  some  extent 
sympathized.  They  could  not  long  enjoy  their 
monopoly,  rivals  would  soon  be  attracted  to  the  lagoon, 
and  Harry  was  justified  in  seizing  his  chance.  He  had 
not  thought  Harry  greedy,  but  there  was  much  at 
stake ;  Chisholm's  approval,  Harry's  business  standing, 
and  his  marriage  to  Flora.  Marston  could  understand 
his  comrade's  running  heavy  risks  for  a  girl  like  that. 


ii4  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Still  he  was  bothered  because  he  did  not  know  all  the 
risks ;  it  was  possible  that  Harry  was  being  driven  far 
by  his  very  natural  ambition,  but  there  were  lengths  to 
which  one  ought  not  to  go. 

Another  thing  puzzled  Marston.  Don  Felix  had 
known  the  negroes  and  had,  moreover,  negro  blood  in 
.  cins,  but  the  trade  had  not  extended  until  he  was 
dead.  It  was  strange  the  efforts  of  a  white  man  and 
a  stranger  had  led  to  the  sudden  extension.  Harry 
had  obviously  qualities  and  knowledge  that  had  not 
marked  the  other.  But  what  were  the  qualities,  and 
what  did  he  know?  Although  Marston  sometimes 
brooded  over  this,  he  saw  no  light. 

One  evening  he  sat  in  the  cabin  and  studied  their 
trading  accounts  while  Wyndham  smoked.  It  was 
very  hot  and  Marston's  face  and  hands  were  wet  with 
sweat  and  his  eyes  were  dazzled.  Flies  hovered  about 
the  light  and  now  and  then  a  beetle  struck  the  mos- 
quito gauze  in  the  skylight.  Presently  Marston  put 
down  his  pen  and  frowned. 

"  My  brain's  dull  to-night,"  he  said.  "  I  ought  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  results  of  our  venture,  but  there  are 
things  I  don't  see  quite  plain.  For  example,  we  hive 
got  a  lot  of  stuff  for  which  we  don't  seem  to  have 
paid." 

"  You  are  supercargo,"  Wyndham  rejoined.  "  The 
accounts  are  yours  and  they're  remarkably  accurate. 
All  we  have  got  is  properly  charged  against  us." 

"  That  is  so ;  I  have  used  your  figures.  All  the 
same,  we  haven't  handed  over  much  money." 

"  The  business  is  largely  done  by  barter." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Marston,  with  a  touch  of  im- 


MARSTON  GOES  TO  SEA  115 

patience.     "  We  haven't  delivered  much  goods  against 
the  account.'' 

"  The  goods  will  be  delivered.  Our  customers 
haven't  yet  stated  the  articles  they  want." 

'  This  means  they  trust  us  until  we  can  bring  the 
stuff  from  England  or  America?  In  fact,  they're  will- 
ing to  trust  us  for  some  time?  " 

"  It  looks  like  that,"  said  Wyndham  and  laughed. 
"Are  you  puzzled  about  it,  Bob?  After  all,  Wynd- 
hams'  has  long  traded  here  and  the  house's  reputation 
is  obviously  pretty  good." 

"  But  I  understand  your  agents  never  got  such  stuff 
as  we  have  got." 

"  They  were  agents  and  we  are  principals ;  I  expect 
that  accounts  for  something,"  Wyndham  replied  with 
a  twinkle.  "  Besides,  Wyndhams'  never  had  a  super- 
cargo like  you." 

Marston  frowned  and  tried  to  think  of  some  other 
matters  that  had  excited  his  curiosity,  but  could  not 
make  the  effort,  and  Wyndham  put  a  bottle  and  glasses 
on  the  table. 

"  Shut  the  books  and  I'll  mix  a  cocktail,"  he  said. 
"  You're  working  too  hard  and  it's  very  hot." 

They  went  to  bed  soon  afterwards  and  when  he 
awoke  Marston 's  head  ached  and  he  did  not  get  up. 
He  thought  he  had  a  close  of  fever  and  felt  strangely 
annoyed.  Somehow  he  had  not  expected  to  get  fever : 
he  had  thought  Harry  might  get  it,  and  to  be  kept  in 
his  bunk  was  a  complication  he  had  not  reckoned  on. 
Although  Wyndham  dosed  him  as  the  medical  book  di- 
rected, the  fever  did  not  abate.  For  some  days  he 
tossed  about  in  his  narrow  bunk  with  a  throbbing  head 


n6  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

and  pain  in  his  limbs,  and  then  lay  half-conscious  in 
limp  exhaustion.  He  had  strange  dreams  and  long 
remembered  ones;  indeed,  he  sometimes  doubted  if  it 
were  all  a  dream. 

He  imagined  he  was  back  at  the  factory  on  the 
African  river  and  Wyndham's  uncle,  the  man  who 
vanished,  was  in  the  big  mildewed  room.  Marston 
saw  him  come  out  of  his  door  and  stand  for  a  moment 
listening,  with  his  face  touched  by  the  moonlight;  and 
then  run  forward  and  stop  by  the  body  on  the  boards. 
The  dream  was  horribly  vivid  and  real,  but  the  big 
room  got  hazy  and  melted,  as  it  were,  into  Columbine's 

cabin. 

Marston  saw  the  lamp,  turned  low,  hang  at  an  angle 
to  the  beams,  and  the  charts  and  cargo  books  in  the 
net  rack.  He  smelt  the  mud  and  heard  the  ripples 
splash  against  the  schooner's  side.  Somebody  sat  in 
front  of  the  table  and  when  the  man  looked  up  he  saw 
it  was  Rupert  Wyndham.  Marston  knew  him  because 
he  had  seen  his  portrait,  but  his  hair  had  gone  white 
and  his  skin  very  dark.  In  fact,  he  did  not  look  like  a 
white  man.  He  got  up  and  his  face  and  bent  figure 
melted  as  the  room  at  the  factory  had  melted,  but 
very  slowly  got  distinct  again  and  Marston  thrilled 
with  repulsion  and  horror.  Rupert  Wyndham  had 
changed  to  the  old  mulatto. 

His  naked  feet  made  no  noise  as  he  crossed  the 
floor  and  Marston  struggled  to  get  up  but  could  not. 
His  lips  refused  to  move  when  he  tried  to  call  for 
help;  the  old  fellow  had  fixed  his  bloodshot  eyes  on 
him  and  he  felt  powerless.  The  mulatto  stopped  by 
his  bunk,  holding  out  a  glass,  and  Marston  knew  he 
meant  to  poison  him.  He  resolved  he  would  not  drink, 


MARSTON  GOES  TO  SEA  117 

but  felt  he  must.  There  was  something  in  the  fellow's 
steady  look  that  broke  his  resistance  and  for  a  few 
moments  he  fought  a  horrible  battle  against  a  strange 
conquering  force.  Then  he  took  the  glass  and  drained 
it,  and  the  mulatto  melted  away.  He  did  not  vanish. 
This  implied  suddenness;  he  faded  out  of  the  cabin 
by  imperceptible  degrees. 

Marston  knew  no  more  and  awoke  in  daylight, 
haunted  by  the  dream.  He  was  surprised  to  feel  he 
was  not  worse;  indeed,  his  head  did  not  ache  and  al- 
though he  was  very  weak  the  pain  in  his  limbs  had 
gone.  His  throat  was  parched  and  there  was  a  strange 
taste  in  his  mouth,  as  if  he  had  swallowed  the  draught 
he  dreamed  about.  Wyndham  sat  on  the  locker  and 
got  up  when  he  saw  Marston  was  awake. 

"  You  look  different.  I  think  you  have  seen  the 
worst,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  bothered  about  you, 
Bob." 

Marston  smiled.  He  did  not  want  to  talk  and  the 
relief  he  saw  in  his  comrade's  face  was  soothing. 
He  went  to  sleep  again  and  it  was  dark  when  he 
awoke.  He  did  not  dream  that  night  and  in  a  few 
days  got,  rather  shakily,  out  of  his  bunk.  Wyndham 
put  some  cushions  for  him  on  the  locker  and  they 
began  to  talk. 

"  The  boat's  full  to  the  hatches  and  we  go  to  sea 
to-morrow,"  Wyndham  said.  "If  the  wind  keeps 
fair,  I  expect  to  put  you  on  board  the  Spanish  liner 
for  the  Canaries  in  three  or  four  days.  You'll  trans- 
fer to  a  homeward  Cape  boat  when  you  arrive." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  go  home  yet,"  Marston  ob- 
jected. 

"  You  are  going  all  the  same,"  Wyndham  declared. 


ii8  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  You  have  been  very  ill  and  a  sick  man  hasn't  much 
chance  in  this  miasmatic  air.  There's  no  use  in  ar- 
guing; you  have  got  to  go." 

Marston  grumbled,  but  they  sailed  with  the  next 
high  tide,  and  when  they  made  the  port  where  the 
Spanish  steamer  lay  he  let  Wyndham  help  him  on 
board. 


PART  II 
WYNDHAM  CLAIMS  HIS  REWARD 


CHAPTER  I 

MABEL    PONDERS 

IT  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  Marston 
sat  by  a  window  in  an  English  country  house. 
His  pose  was  limp  and  his  face  was  thin,  for  the  fever 
had  shaken  him,  but  he  felt  his  strength  coming  back. 
Outside,  bare  trees  shook  their  branches  in  a  fresh  west 
wind,  and  a  white  belt  of  surf  crept  across  the  shining 
sands  in  the  broad  estuary.  On  the  other  side,  the 
Welsh  hills  rose  against  the  sunset  in  a  smooth  black 
line. 

Marston  felt  pleasantly  languid  and  altogether 
satisfied.  Mabel  had  put  a  cushion  under  his  head 
and  given  him  a  footstool.  It  was  soothing  to  be 
taken  care  of  by  one  whom  one  loved,  and  after  the 
glare  of  the  Caribbean  and  the  gloom  of  the  swamps, 
the  soft  colors  and  changing  lights  of  the  English 
landscape  rested  his  eyes.  For  all  that,  they  did  not 
wander  long  from  Mabel,  who  sat  close  by,  quietly 
pondering.  With  her  yellow  hair  and  delicate  pink 
skin  she  looked  very  English,  and  all  that  was  English 
had  an  extra  charm  for  Marston.  He  liked  her 
thoughtful  calm.  Mabel  was  normal ;  she,  so  to  speak, 
walked  in  the  light,  and  the  extravagant  imaginings  he 
had  indulged  at  the  lagoon  vanished  when  she  was 
about. 

Yet  he  had  been  forced  to  remember  much,  for 
Chisholm  and  Flora  had  come  to  hear  his  story,  and 

121 


122  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

he  had  felt  he  must  make  them  understand  in  order  to 
do  his  comrade  justice.  Flora's  grateful  glance  and 
the  sparkle  in  Chisholm's  eyes  hinted  that  he  had  not 
altogether  failed. 

"It's  a  moving  tale;  I  felt  I  was  young  again," 
Chisholm  remarked  when  Marston  stopped.  "  A  dar- 
ing voyage  for  a  craft  as  old  as  Columbine  and  Harry 
obviously  handled  her  well.  Some  folks  declare  we're 
decadent,  but  my  notion  is,  a  race  that  loves  the  sea 
can't  lose  its  vigor,  and  the  spirit  that  sent  out  the  old 
adventurers  is  living  yet.  Well,  I  wish  I  had  been 
with  you !  "  He  paused  with  an  apologetic  smile  and 
turned  to  Flora.  "  It's  plain  that  Harry  has  qualities." 

"  He  has  a  good  partner,"  Flora  replied  and  gave 
Marston  a  friendly  nod.  "  I  mean  that,  Bob." 

"  The  persistence  of  the  family  type  is  a  curious 
thing,"  Chisholm  resumed.  "  In  old  times,  Wynd- 
hams'  sent  out  slavers  and  privateers,  and  although 
Harry's  modern,  he's  taking  the  path  his  ancestors 
trod.  Well,  in  a  sense,  he's  lucky,  because  he  can 
make  seafaring  pay.  The  rest  of  us  must  indulge  it 
tamely  on  board  a  yacht  and,  however  you  economize, 
yachting  costs  you  much." 

"  Harry  has  a  talent  for  making  his  occupations 
pay,"  Marston  agreed  and  noted  that  Flora  knitted  her 
brows. 

"  You  are  romantic,  father,"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
think  Harry  is  taking  his  ancestors'  path.  They  were 
hard  and  reckless  men  and  traded  in  flesh  and  blood. 
You  trade  in  rubber  and  dyewoods,  don't  you,  Bob?  " 

"  For  the  most  part.  However,  we  get  a  bit  of 
everything;  ambergris,  pearls,  and  curious  drugs." 

"  I  like  pearls,"  Flora  remarked,  but  stopped  rather 


.BEL  PONDERS  123 

abruptly  and  Mabel  gave  Marston  a  quick  glance.  He 
thought  he  saw  what  she  meant;  he  must  not  talk 
about  pearls  just  then. 

After  a  time  Flora  said  they  must  go,  and  went  out 
with  Mabel,  but  Chisholm  stopped  by  Marston's  chair. 

"  It  looks  as  if  you  were  quite  satisfied  about  this 
venture  of  Wyndham's,  Bob,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  yes,"  Marston  replied.  "  I've  backed  my 
approval  by  investing  a  good  sum." 

Chisholm  was  quiet  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
resumed :  "  That  is  not  altogether  what  I  meant ;  in 
fact,  it's  hard  to  state  frankly  what  I  do  mean.  I  like 
Harry  Wyndham.  He's  clever,  resolute,  and  a  good 
sportsman,  but  when  he  wanted  to  marry  Flora  I 
hesitated.  Well,  your  story  has  given  me  some  com- 
fort. You  have  been  with  Wyndham  and  are  satisfied. 
One  can  trust  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  Marston  answered  with 
a  touch  of  awkwardness.  "  The  business  is  risky,  the 
climate's  bad,  and  one  must  use  some  control.  Leave 
liquor  alone,  for  example;  I  think  you  understand! 
Still  Harry's  rather  a  Spartan;  there's  an  ascetic  vein 
in  him.  Besides,  he  won't  stay  long.  As  soon  as  he 
has  put  things  straight  he's  coming  back." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Chisholm,  but  when  he  went 
off  Marston  felt  embarrassed. 

Chisholm  trusted  him  and  he  was  not  sure  he  had 
been  altogether  frank.  Wyndham,  of  course,  was  free 
from  certain  gross  temptations  to  which  some  white 
men  in  the  tropics  were  victims ;  but  there  were  others, 
subtle  and  insidious,  that  rather  appealed  to  the  brain 
than  the  body.  Marston  could  not  declare  that  Harry 
resisted  these.  Yet  it  was  impossible  he  should  tell 


124  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Chisholm  his  vague  but  disturbing  doubts.  It  was 
some  relief  when  Mabel  returned  and  sat  down  op- 
posite. 

"Have  they  tired  you,  Bob?"  she  asked.  "Light 
a  cigarette  and  don't  talk  unless  you  want." 

"  I  want  to  talk,"  said  Marston,  who  used  no  reserve 
with  her. 

"  Very  well.  To  begin  with,  you  saw  my  hint  when 
Flora  talked  about  the  pearls." 

Marston  laughed.  "  After  all,  I'm  not  so  dull  as 
some  people  think.  You  didn't  want  Flora  to  know 
I  had  brought  you  pearls?" 

"Something  like  that.  Why  did  Harry  send  her 
none?" 

"  It's  rather  puzzling,"  Marston  replied  thought- 
fully. "  I  suggested  I  should  take  a  few  to  Flora, 
but  he  said  they  were  not  good  enough.  They're  not 
really  first-class  pearls,  you  know.  Then  he  said  they 
might  be  unlucky.  The  strange  thing  is,  I  think  he 
meant  it." 

"Yet  you  brought  some  for  me?  You're  honest, 
but  you  don't  always  use  much  tact,  dear  Bob !  " 

"  Oh,  well.  We're  not  superstitious  and  I'd  no 
grounds  for  thinking  the  pearls  would  bring  bad 
luck." 

"  It  looks  as  if  your  partner  had  some  grounds." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marston.  "  I  don't  understand  the 
thing.  For  that  matter,  I  was  puzzled  about  other 
things  now  and  then,  and  although  I  wanted  to  get 
back  to  you  I  felt  shabby  about  coming  home.  Some- 
how I  had  a  notion  I  ought  to  stay.  After  all,  you  let 
me  go  and  would  like  me  to  finish  my  job." 

"  You're  rather  a  dear  and  very  staunch,"  Mabel 


MABEL  PONDERS  125 

remarked  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  Anyhow,  you  were 
ill  and  had  done  enough." 

She  was  quiet  for  a  time  and  Marston  was  satisfied 
to  smoke  and  study  her.  It  had  got  dark,  but  the 
fire  was  bright  and  touched  her  face  while  she  sat 
still,  as  if  lost  in  concentrated  thought.  Marston 
thought  her  beautiful  and  she  had  beauty,  but  her 
beauty  was  not  her  strongest  charm. 

"  Bob,"  she  remarked  presently,  "  yours  was  a 
curious  dream." 

"  I  had  fever,  you  know,  but  the  thing  was  remark- 
ably real.  It  was  like  lantern  pictures  melting  on  the 
screen.  Background  and  figures  were  accurate  and 
lifelike.  In  the  last  scene,  I  knew  I  was  in  Columbine's 
cabin  and  can  hardly  persuade  myself  I  was  quite 
asleep.  The  tide  splashed  about  the  boat;  I  could 
smell  the  mud." 

"  Yet  you  saw  Wyndham's  uncle  change  into  the 
horrible  old  mulatto." 

Marston  nodded.  "  He  faded  and  got  distinct 
again,  different,  but  not  different  altogether.  This 
was  the  puzzling  thing.  However,  the  story  the  agent 
told  us  about  the  Leopards  had  haunted  me  and  I'd 
often  thought  about  Rupert  Wyndham.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  I  saw  his  portrait  and  he  was  like  my 
partner." 

"  You  mean  he  was  like  him  physically?  " 

"  That's  not  all.  Of  course  a  portrait  doesn't  tell 
one  very  much,  but  I  thought  Harry  had  Rupert's 
temperament." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mabel,  knitting  her  straight  brows. 
"  To  begin  with,  do  you  know  Rupert  Wyndham's 
temperament?  " 


126  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  In  a  way ;  Harry  and  Ellams,  the  agent,  talked 
about  him  much.  He  was  a  daring  man;  I  think 
reckless  is  the  proper  word.  We  sober  folks  have 
our  code,  we  must  do  this  and  not  the  other;  men 
like  Rupert  Wyndham  have  none.  If  a  thing  looked 
worth  getting,  he'd  venture  much  and  break  rules 
for  it.  Harry,  you  know,  is  like  that;  I  mean  he'd 
venture  much.  Well,  I  think  Rupert  made  some  rash 
experiments  in  Africa.  He  studied  the  negroes'  habits 
and  tried  to  get  their  point  of  view." 

"With  an  object,  you  suggest?  What  did  he 
want?" 

"  Harry  imagined  it  was  power." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mabel.  "  Harry  wants  Flora.  And  he 
has  Rupert's  recklessness!" 

Marston  made  a  sign  of  disagreement.  "  There's 
a  difference.  A  man  might  do  much  for  power;  but 
for  a  girl  like  Flora  he  must  be  fastidious.  It  wouldn't 
help  if  he  got  money  and  lost  her  respect.  Harry 
knows  this.  He's  not  a  fool." 

"  But  suppose  Flora  didn't  know  how  he  got  his 
money?  " 

"  Harry  doesn't  cheat.     He  wouldn't  use  means  she 
disapproved  and  then  claim  his  reward." 
'      "  Oh,  well,"  said  Mabel,  "  I  think  we'll  let  it  go. 
I  like  you  to  trust  your  friends." 

Soon  afterwards  a  car  came  to  the  steps  and  Mabel 
saw  that  Marston  put  on  a  warm  scarf  and  fastened  his 
collar  before  he  drove  off.  Then  she  went  back  to 
the  fire  and  pondered  his  story  and  subsequent  remarks. 
The  story  was  strange,  but  she  thought  she  saw  a  light 
where  all  was  dark  to  Bob.  She  had  long  suspected 
that  Wyndham  was  reckless  and  would  not  be  bound 


MABEL  PONDERS  127 

by  rules  if  the  prize  he  sought  made  his  breaking  them 
worth  while.  Moreover,  she  had  got  books  about 
West  Africa  and  the  Caribbean  that  touched  on  Fetish 
and  Voodoo  superstitions.  Perhaps  she  was  romantic, 
but  it  was  possible  Wyndham,  led  by  strong  temptation, 
had  ventured  where  a  white  man  ought  not  to  go. 
With  an  effort,  Mabel  banished  her  doubts.  After  all, 
the  thing  was  unthinkable.  Bob  had  not  been  cheated ; 
he  knew  Harry. 

In  the  morning,  Marston  occupied  himself  with 
some  old  books  in  Wyndhams'  office  at  the  top  of  a 
big  stone  building.  The  office  was  comfortably 
furnished  and  there  was  a  good  picture  of  an  old- 
fashioned  sailing  ship  on  the  wall ;  the  big  single-top 
sails  indicated  when  she  was  built.  At  the  end  of 
the  street  the  window  commanded,  the  masts  and 
funnels  of  channel  steamers  rose  above  a  warehouse 
where  Wyndhams'  barks  and  brigs  had  loaded  goods 
they  bartered  for  slaves.  Marston  glanced  at  the  mod- 
ern iron  masts  and  smiled  when  he  looked  up,  for  the 
book  he  studied  had  nothing  to  do  with  business. 

It  was  the  log  of  the  slaver  Providence  that 
Wyndham  had  talked  about,  and  it  related  how  they 
towed  her  with  the  boats  when  the  negroes  died  in  the 
suffocating  hold.  There  was  something  about  a  sac- 
rifice that  did  not  bring  the  needed  wind  and  its  cost 
was  charged  against  the  freight.  They  were  hard 
men,  touched  by  strange  superstitions,  who  towed  the 
Providence,  but  their  brutality  was  businesslike. 
Marston  found  an  entry  for  the  negroes  used  up  at 
the  oars,  with  their  value  at  Jamaica  properly  noted. 

After  a  time,  he  shut  the  log-book.  He  had  read 
enough  and  resolved  there  would  be  a  break  in  some 


128  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

of  Wyndhams'  traditions  now  he  was  a  partner  in  the 
house.  He  had  noted  things  he  did  not  like,  and  Harry 
would  support  his  new  plans  when  he  came  home.  By 
and  by  he  heard  steps  in  the  clerks'  office  and  a  broker 
was  announced.  The  latter  came  in  and  put  a  small 
brown  jar  on  the  table. 

"  I  told  your  people  we  wanted  some  hard  oil  and 
they  sent  us  samples,"  he  said.  "If  the  bulk's  quite 
up  to  specimen,  I  think  it  ought  to  meet  the  bill.  We 
must  have  prime  quality  for  the  particular  job." 

Marston  picked  up  the  jar,  which  held  a  quantity 
of  thick  yellow  grease.  It  was  palm  oil  and  its  strong 
but  rather  pleasant  smell  awoke  vivid  memories.  He 
saw  the  whitewashed  factory  shine  beside  the  muddy 
river  and  a  gang  of  naked  negroes  filling  big  barrels 
in  a  compound  tunneled  by  land-crabs'  holes.  The 
compound  glowed  with  light  against  a  background  of 
forest  wrapped  in  unchanging  gloom,  from  which  the 
palm  oil  came.  For  all  that,  the  oil  was  a  well-known 
article  of  commerce.  There  was  nothing  mysterious 
about  its  production  and  Marston  would  have  been 
satisfied  had  Wyndhams'  confined  its  trade  to  stuff 
like  this.  Then  he  saw  the  broker  was  waiting. 

"  Don't  samples  generally  stand  for  the  bulk  ?  "  he 
asked. 

The  broker  looked  at  him  rather  sharply  and 
smiled. 

"  It  depends  upon  the  people  with  whom  you  deal 
and  the  skill  of  their  warehouseman.  A  man  who 
knows  his  job  can  draw  samples  that  will  pass  a  good- 
middling  lot  as  prime,  and  this  without  the  buyer's 
being  able  to  claim  that  they're  not  fairly  represent- 
ative. But  of  course,  you  know " 


MABEL  PONDERS  129 

"  I  don't  know.  You  see,  I'm  a  beginner," 
Marston  replied,  and  examined  a  ticket  stuck  in  the 
oil.  "  Well,  I  saw  this  lot  barreled  in  Africa.  The 
quality  is  not  prime." 

The  broker  looked  surprised  and  annoyed.  "  Then 
your  manager  has  made  things  rather  awkward  for 
us.  One  uses  some  judgment  about  samples,  but  our 
customer  must  have  a  first-class  article  and  we  en- 
gaged to  supply  him  at  a  stated  price.  I'll  own  that 
the  price  was  a  little  below  what  others  asked.  We 
quoted  on  your  offer." 

"  Our  offer  stands,"  said  Marston,  who  indicated  the 
jar.  "  Will  you  be  satisfied  if  the  oil  we  send  is  all 
like  this?" 

"  We  will  be  quite  satisfied." 

"  Very  well.  Send  in  the  order  and  you'll  get  the 
quality  you  want." 

The  broker  lighted  a  cigarette  and  gave  Marston 
his  case.  "  I  like  the  way  you  do  business.  We  are 
buying  for  big  people,  the  trade's  steady  and  good, 
but  we  haven't  dealt  much  with  Wyndhams'  before. 
If  this  lot's  all  right,  other  orders  will  follow." 

"  You  can  take  it  for  granted  the  lot  will  be  all 
right,"  Marston  replied. 

He  frowned  when  the  broker  went  out.  It  looked 
as  if  Wyndhams'  goods  had  not  always  been  up  to 
sample  and  Marston  remembered  hints  he  heard  about 
the  character  of  the  house.  Harry,  however  had  not 
long  had  control  and  had,  perhaps,  left  things  to  his 
clerks.  It  was  going  to  be  different  now. 

Presently  Marston  got  up  and  went  to  the  general 
office  where  he  interviewed  the  young  manager.  He 


130  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

did  not  say  much,  but  he  was  very  firm  and  when  he 
returned  to  his  room  the  other  shrugged. 

"If  the  new  partner  takes  this  line,  your  next  bal- 
ance sheet  won't  be  good."  he  remarked  to  the 
book-keeper. 


CHAPTER  II 
MABEL'S  PEARLS 

FOUR  months  after  Marston  reached  England, 
Wyndham  came  home.  He  had  got  thin  and, 
when  he  was  quiet,  looked  worn,  but  he  had  returned 
in  triumph  and  soon  persuaded  Marston  that  his  efforts 
had  earned  a  rich  reward.  Things  had  gone  better 
than  his  letters  indicated. 

On  the  evening  of  his  arrival,  he  waited  in  Flora's 
drawing-room  for  Chisholm,  who  had  not  yet  got  back 
from  his  office  at  the  port.  Electric  lights  burned 
above  the  mantel  and  Wyndham  sat  by  the  cheerful 
fire,  with  Flora  in  a  low  chair  opposite.  For  a  time 
she  had  listened  while  he  talked,  and  now  her  eyes 
rested  on  him  with  keen  but  tranquil  satisfaction. 
Harry  had  come  back,  as  she  had  known  he  would 
come,  like  a  conqueror.  She  was  proud  that  he  had 
justified  her  trust,  and  although  it  had  been  hard  to 
let  him  go,  this  did  not  matter. 

She  was  ashamed  of  her  hesitation  when  he  first 
declared  himself  her  lover,  but  the  suspicion  that  she 
was  rash  had  not  lasted  long.  Flora  was  loyal  and 
when  she  had  accepted  him  looked  steadily  forward. 
It  was  not  her  habit  to  doubt  and  look  back.  One 
thing  rather  disturbed  her ;  Harry  was  obviously  tired. 
Before  he  went  away  his  talk  and  laugh  were  marked 
by  a  curious  sparkle  that  Flora  thought  like  the  sparkle 
of  wine.  This  had  gone,  but,  in  a  way,  she  liked  him 
better,  although  his  sober  mood  was  new. 


132  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

By-and-by  he  glanced  about  the  room,  which  was 
rather  plainly  furnished,  but  with  a  hint  of  artistic 
taste.  Chisholm  was  not  rich  and  the  taste  was 
Flora's.  Then  he  moved  his  chair  and  leaned  for- 
ward to  the  fire  with  a  languid  smile. 

"  Our  English  cold  is  bracing,  but  it  bites  keen  when 
one  has  known  the  tropics,"  he  said.  "  I  like  light 
and  warmth." 

"  You  got  both  on  the  Caribbean,"  Flora  remarked. 

"  No,"  said  Wyndham,  "  not  much  light.  For  a 
few  hours,  the  glare  was  dazzling,  but  soon  the  shadow 
crept  back  from  the  bush  and  the  fever-mist  floated 
about  the  boat.  On  the  creek  and  at  the  village,  you 
got  a  sense  of  gloom  that  never  melted."  He  paused 
and  added  with  a  smile :  "  It's  often  like  that  in  the 
tropics,  and  the  gloom  is  not  altogether  physical." 

Flora  noted  the  thinness  of  his  face  and  his  pallor. 
Her  glance  got  soft  and  pitiful. 

"My  dear!"  she  said.  "I  wanted  you  to  win; 
not  that  I  cared  for  your  winning,  but  because  I  wanted 
you  to  satisfy  others  who  do  not  know  you  so  well." 

''  Your  father,  for  example?"  he  rejoined  with  a 
twinkle.  "  Well,  he  took  the  proper  line,  but  I  think 
I  have  some  arguments  that  will  persuade  him." 

"  I  sent  you,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  color. 
"  Afterwards  I  saw  that  I  was  shabby  and  vain.  I 
ought  not  to  have  let  you  go.  What  did  it  matter 
about  the  others,  when  I  was  satisfied?  You  have 
won  and  they  will  own  this,  but  I'm  afraid  it  has  cost 
you  much." 

Wyndham  gave  her  a  rather  sharp  glance  and  then 
smiled.  "One  must  pay  for  what  one  gets,  but,  if 
it's  much  comfort,  I  was  very  willing." 


MABEL'S  PEARLS  133 

"  You  were  always  generous,  but  I'm  afraid  you're 
sometimes  rash." 

"  The  rashness  was  justified.  If  I  had  to  choose 
again,  I'd  stake  my  all,  fortune,  mind,  and  body,  and 
think  the  risk  worth  while." 

"  You're  very  nice,"  said  Flora,  and  added  with 
a  blush :  "  But,  in  one  way,  there  was  no  risk.  Even 
'  if  you  had  been  beaten,  I  would  have  persuaded  father. 
It  was  rather  for  his  sake  you  went  than  mine  and 
that's  why  I'm  half  ashamed.  But  he  deserved  some- 
thing; he  has  long  indulged  me." 

She  got  up.  There  were  steps  in  the  passage,  and 
Chisholm  came  in.  Wyndham  stayed  for  dinner  and 
afterwards  went  with  Chisholm  to  his  smoking-room 
and  gave  him  a  document. 

"  My  book-keeper  drafted  the  statement,  because 
I  thought  you  ought  to  know  where  I  stand,"  he  said. 
"  The  sum  indicated  could  be  invested  for  Flora.  Not 
much  of  a  marriage  settlement  of  course,  but  perhaps 
it  will  help  to  banish  your  very  natural  doubts." 

Chisholm  studied  the  paper  with  some  surprise. 
"  You  have  done  much  better  than  I  thought ;  I  don't 
know  if  this  is  flattering  or  not.  In  fact,  when  one 
remembers  that  you  have  not  long  been  head  of  the 
house,  your  success  is  rather  remarkable." 

"  I  ran  some  risks,"  said  Wyndham,  smiling.  "  We 
have  got  started;  perhaps  I'm  optimistic,  but  I  came 
home  persuaded  we  are  going  on.  It's  possible  we  may 
go  far." 

"  You  have  a  good  partner,"  Chisholm  remarked. 

"  The  best !  "  Wyndham  agreed  quietly. 

Chisholm  liked  his  hint  of  feeling,  but  hesitated,  al- 
though there  was  no  obvious  reason  for  this.  He 


134  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

liked  Wyndham,  and  the  latter  was  on  the  way  to 
mend  his  fortune.  All  the  same,  he  shrank,  rather 
illogically,  from  giving  his  formal  consent  to  the  wed- 
ding. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  something  of  an  effort, 
"  I'm  glad  your  affairs  are  going  as  well  as  you  hoped 
and  I  suppose  you  now  expect  me  to  keep  my  promise. 
I've  no  grounds  to  refuse  and  you  can  marry  Flora 
when  she  is  ready." 

Wyndham  went  soon  afterwards  and  Chisholm  said 
to  Flora,  "  You  declared  Harry  would  force  me  to  ap- 
prove and  he  has  done  so." 

"  What  do  you  approve?  "  Flora  asked,  smiling. 

"Oh,  well,''  said  Chisholm,  "I  think  I  see  what 
you  suggest.  Looks  as  if  I  must  be  frank.  Since 
my  duty  is  to  take  care  of  you,  it's  a  big  relief  to 
find  Harry  is  a  good  business  man  and  is  going  to 
make  Wyndhams'  prosperous.  I  like  to  feel  he's  able 
to  give  you  all  you  ought  to  have." 

Flora's  glance  was  proud.  "  I  want  you  to  be 
satisfied,  and  it  was  for  this  I  let  Harry  go.  I  would 
not  have  hesitated  had  he  come  back  disappointed 
and  poor.  Now  I  feel  half  cheated,  because,  in  one 
way,  he  doesn't  need  my  help." 

"  You  are  a  plucky  girl,"  said  Chisholm.  "  Still 
I  expect  it's  better  he  has  come  back  rich.  After 
all,  romance  wears  off,  and  then,  if  money's  short,  the 
strain  begins." 

"  Your  philosophy's  not  very  good,"  Flora  rejoined 
with  a  laugh.  "  Real  romance  never  wears  off ;  the 
strain's  the  test  that  marks  the  difference  between  the 
true  and  false.  However,  since  you  have  carried  out 


MABEL'S  PEARLS  135 

your  duty  and  used  a  caution  that's  rather  new,  you 
ought  to  be  happy." 

She  kissed  him  and  he  let  her  go,  but  he  was 
thoughtful  afterwards.  He  felt  he  ought  to  be  happy, 
but  somehow  he  was  not.  By-and-by  he  got  up  and 
went  to  meet  Mabel  and  Marston,  whom  he  heard  come 
in.  A  famous  Shakespearian  actor  was  visiting  the 
town  and  Marston  had  called  to  suggest  that  they 
should  see  the  play  together.  They  fixed  a  night,  with- 
out knowing  in  which  of  his  favorite  parts  the 
tragedian  would  appear.  Mabel  said  this  was  not  im- 
portant, because  he  was  good  in  all. 

When  the  car  stopped  at  the  theater  she  went  with 
Flora  to  the  cloak-room  and  began  to  take  off  her 
furs  in  front  of  a  long  glass.  As  she  did  so  she 
hesitated,  because  she  remembered  something  she 
ought  to  have  remembered  before.  It  was  too  late 
now,  for  as  the  cloak  slipped  off  her  shoulders  a  string 
of  small  pearls  caught  the  light.  Flora  had  not  long 
since  said  she  liked  pearls.  Then  Mabel  saw  that 
Flora  had  seen  the  pearls,  and  thought  she  had  noted 
her  hesitation,  because  she  smiled. 

"  They  are  very  pretty,"  Flora  remarked.  "  I  sup- 
pose Bob  gave  them  to  you?  " 

"  They  are  small,"  said  Mabel  deprecatingly,  but 
not  because  she  did  not  value  her  lover's  present. 
"  Bob  said  something  about  their  not  getting  any 
Harry  thought  good  enough  to  send  home." 

"  Bob  and  you  are  very  nice,  but  you're  sometimes 
obvious,"  Flora  rejoined.  "  However,  I'm  not  jeal- 
ous, and  if  the  pearls  are  small,  they  stand  for 
much." 


136  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  These  stand  for  endurance  and  bold  adventure.  I 
think  Bob  did  not  get  them  easily." 

"  That  would  not  matter  to  Bob,"  said  Flora. 
"  But  I  wonder  what  they  cost  the  others,  the  dark- 
skinned  men  who  found  them  on  the  sands  beneath 
the  Caribbean.  Pearls,  you  know,  sometimes  stand 
for  tears."  She  moved  from  the  glass,  for  the  room 
was  filling,  and  smiled  as  she  resumed :  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  indulge  a  morbid  sentiment  when  I'm  happy. 
You  will  never  have  much  grounds  to  cry  for  Bob." 

They  went  down  a  passage  and  found  their  places 
in  the  stalls.  The  house  was  full  and  Marston  had 
engaged  such  seats  as  he  could  get.  Wyndham,  Flora 
and  Chisholm  were  in  front;  Mabel  and  Marston  in 
the  row  behind. 

"  Macbeth ! "  he  said  as  he  gave  Mabel  a  program. 
"Rather  curious;  but  I  like  the  play.  Kind  of  plot 
one  can  understand." 

"Why  is  it  curious?"  Mabel  asked.  "Don't  you 
understand  them  all  ?  " 

"  Not  like  this,"  said  Marston,  with  a  touch  of 
awkwardness.  "  The  motto  —  or  d'you  call  it  the 
motive  ?  —  is  plain  from  the  start.  '  Ambition  that 
over-leaps  itself,'  if  I'm  quoting  right." 

Mabel  said  nothing.  Bob  was  not  clever,  but  he 
was  sometimes  shrewd  and  she  saw  what  was  in  his 
mind.  This  was  easier  because  he  looked  uncom- 
fortable. The  poor  fellow  felt  he  had  not  been  quite 
loyal  to  his  friend.  Then  Mabel  frowned.  Perhaps 
Bob  had  seen  clearly;  there  was  a  parallel. 

The  lights  went  out  and  when  the  curtain  rose 
Marston  tried  to  banish  his  disturbing  thoughts  and 
enjoy  the  play.  He  had  seen  it  often,  but  the  story 


MABEL'S  PEARLS  137 

gripped  him  with  a  force  he  had  not  felt  before.  All 
was  well  done.  Pale  flames  played  round  the  witches' 
cauldron,  and  there  was  something  strangely  sugges- 
tive about  the  bent  figures  that  hovered  about  the  fire 
and  faded  in  the  gloom.  He  had  sometimes  thought 
the  witch-scene  unnecessary,  but  now  he  felt  its  sig- 
nificance. In  Shakespeare's  days,  men  believed  in 
witchcraft,  and  when  one  had  been  in  Africa 
one  owned  there  were  powers  that  ruled  the  dark. 
Bob  was  quiet  and  listened,  with  his  mouth  firmly 
set. 

A  line  caught  his  notice :  "  Her  husband's  to 
Aleppo  gone,  the  master  of  the  Tiger."  Marston  had 
not  thought  much  about  this  before,  but  he  saw  the 
strange,  high-pooped  old  vessel,  manned  by  merchant 
adventurers,  plunge  across  the  surges  of  the  Levant. 
She  was  a  type;  there  were  always  merchant  ad- 
venturers, and  he  pictured  Columbine  rolling  on  the 
African  surf. 

Then  for  a  time  he  let  the  play  absorb  him.  The 
witches  were  tempting  Macbeth,  flattering  his  ambi- 
tion, promising  him  power.  The  gloom  and  the  flick- 
ering light  round  the  cauldron  recalled  Africa; 
Marston  had  seen  the  naked  factory  boys  crouch  be- 
side their  fires,  tapping  little  drums,  and  singing 
strange,  monotonous  songs  that  sounded  like  incan- 
tations. He  thought  about  Rupert  Wyndham ;  witches 
were  numerous  in  Africa  and  Marston  wondered  what 
they  had  promised  him.  Was  it  power?  Or  knowl- 
edge the  cautious  white  man  shuns?  Marston  glanced 
at  Wyndham,  in  front.  He  had  not  spoken  since  the 
curtain  rose  and  the  pose  of  his  head  indicated  that 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  stage.  He  was  very  still 


138  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

and  Marston  thought  the  drama  had  seized  his 
imagination. 

The  cauldron  fire  leaped  up,  throwing  red  reflec- 
tions that  touched  a  figure  moving  in  the  gloom. 
Marston  wondered  whether  his  eyes  were  dazzled,  for 
the  hooded  figure  began  to  look  like  the  Bat.  Then 
there  was  a  flash,  the  witches  vanished,  and  he  felt  a 
strange  relief  when  the  curtain  fell  and  the  lights 
went  up. 

"  Very  well  done !  A  realistic  scene !  "  Wyndham 
remarked,  looking  round.  "  Did  you  know  it  was 
Macbeth,  Bob?" 

"  I  did  not,"  said  Marston.  "  Tf  I  had  known, 
I  think  I'd  have  picked  another  night." 

Wyndham  looked  hard  at  him,  and  then  laughed 
and  began  to  talk  to  Flora,  but  Marston  felt  jarred. 
Harry  laughed  like  that  in  moments  of  tension  when 
others  swore.  Then  he  saw  that  Mabel  was  studying 
him. 

'''  You  are  quiet,  Bob,"  she  said. 

"  It's  long  since  I  saw  a  good  play,"  Marston  re- 
plied. "  My  first  relaxation  since  I  got  to  work,  and 
I  expect  it  grips  me  harder  because  it's  fresh.  Full 
house,  isn't  it?  Do  you  know  many  people?  " 

"  I  see  one  or  two  friends  of  yours.  They  have 
been  looking  at  you,  but  you  wouldn't  turn." 

"  I  didn't  see  them,"  said  Marston.  "  I've  got  the 
habit  of  dropping  people  since  I  joined  Wyndhams'. 
Regular  work  is  something  of  a  novelty  and  while  the 
newness  lasts  you  get  absorbed.  I  don't  know  if  it's 
good  or  not  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

Mabel  laughed.  "Well  done,  Bob!  It  cost  you 
something,  but  you  felt  you  ought  to  talk." 


MABEL'S  PEARLS  139 

"  It  oughtn't  to  have  cost  me  anything,"  said 
Marston  apologetically.  "  But  how  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you're  honest  and  obvious.  Besides,  we 
do  know  things,  by  instinct  perhaps.  I  would  always 
know  when  you  were  disturbed." 

"  I'm  not  disturbed.     You  are  here." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mabel,  "  now  you're  very  nice !  But 
let's  be  frank.  You  were  thinking  about  another 
drama,  in  real  life,  that  touches  you  close.  I  see  one 
comfort;  there's  no  Lady  Macbeth  in  the  piece." 

Marston  agreed  and  mused.  The  light  was  good, 
and  touched  Mabel's  face  and  neck  where  the  small 
pearls  shone.  He  saw  Flora's  face  in  profile,  her 
shoulders,  and  the  flowing  curve  of  her  arm.  He 
liked  the  fine  poise  of  her  head.  She  looked  proud 
and  somehow  vivid ;  one  got  a  hint  of  her  fearless, 
impulsive  character.  Her  hair  and  eyes  were  brown 
and  she  wore  a  corn-yellow  dress.  Mabel's  skin  was 
white  and  red,  and  her  dull-blue  clothes  matched  the 
color  of  her  eyes.  She  was  calm,  steadfast,  and  some- 
times reserved,  a  contrast  to  Flora,  although  in  ways 
they  were  alike.  Both  were  honest  and  hated  what 
was  mean.  Marston  felt  comforted.  There  was  no 
Lady  Macbeth  in  the  piece. 

Moreover,  a  glance  along  the  rows  of  people  was 
calming.  There  were  business  men  with  shining,  bald 
heads,  and  some  younger  whose  clothes  were  cut  in 
the  latest  mode.  Women  of  different  ages,  for  the 
most  part  fashionably  dressed,  sat  among  the  others, 
but  all  wore  the  conventional  English  stamp.  There 
was  nothing  extravagant  about  them  ;  Marston  thought 
they  sat  contentedly  by  modern  hearths.  They  were 
not  the  people  to  follow  wandering  fires.  Perhaps  he 


140  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

was  something  of  a  romantic  fool ;  but  when  one  had' 
been  in  Africa  and  the  swamps  beside  the  Caribbean  — 

The  play  went  on.  He  saw  Macbeth's  ambitions 
realized.  The  witches'  promises  were  fulfilled,  but 
with  fulfillment  came  retribution  that  had  looked  im- 
possible. This  was  the  touch  that  fixed  Marston's 
thought.  Macbeth  was  cheated,  but  he  must  pay;  the 
powers  of  evil  lied.  One  wondered  whether  it  was 
always  like  that. 

When  the  curtain  fell  and  the  lights  went  up  shortly 
before  the  end,  Marston  remarked :  "  After  all  there 
were  the  witches.  Lady  Macbeth  was,  so  to  speak,  un- 
necessary." 

Mabel  had  indulged  him  before;  indeed,  his  mood 
had  chimed  with  hers,  but  she  thought  he  had  fol- 
lowed this  line  far  enough.  His  illness  had  left  a 
mark,  and  he  sometimes  brooded.  She  laughed  when 
Flora  turned. 

"  Bob's  getting  to  be  a  dramatic  critic  and  something 
of  a  philosopher,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  he'll  tell  you 
how  he  would  improve  the  play." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  Marston  replied  good- 
humoredly.  "  Aren't  a  man's  greed  and  ambition 
enough  to  drive  him  on,  without  an  outside  tempter?  " 

"Without  a  bad  woman  to  urge  him?  "  Flora  sug- 
gested. 

"  When  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  a  good  woman 
might  be  as  dangerous  as  the  other,"  said  Marston. 

Mabel  frowned.  She  saw  where  her  lover's  re- 
mark led,  but  doubted  if  the  others  did.  She  forced 
a  laugh  when  Wyndham  looked  round. 

"  Bob  has  a  flash  of  imagination  now  and  then," 
she  said. 


MABEL'S  PEARLS  141 

"  I  expect  Bob  would  sooner  leave  out  the  witches, 
now  he  knows  something  about  Ghost  Leopards  and 
Voodoo,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  Anyhow,  I  think  the 
mummery  round  the  cauldron  rather  crude;  the  act 
was,  no  doubt,  written  to  meet  the  spirit  of  the  times. 
Temptation  by  repulsive  hags  would  not  appeal  to  an 
up-to-date  young  man.  My  notion  of  a  tempter  is 
an  urbanely  ironical  Mephistopheles." 

Marston  said  nothing.  He  remembered  the  Bat's 
strange,  mocking  grin;  and  then  roused  himself  and 
laughed.  He  was  getting  morbid ;  the  wretched  fever 
had  shaken  him.  He  joked  with  Flora  until  the  cur- 
tain rose  and  when  it  came  down  on  the  closing  scene 
resolved  to  forget  the  play. 

"  I've  ordered  supper.  It  will  brace  us  up,"  he 
said. 

They  went  to  a  crowded  restaurant,  and  Marston 
liked  the  tinkle  of  glass,  voices,  and  cheerful  laughter, 
but  he  shivered  when  they  left  the  glittering  room  and 
got  into  the  car. 

"  Put  the  rug  round  you  before  we  start,"  said 
Mabel. 

"  I  think  I  will,"  Marston  replied,  apologetically. 
"  I  feel  as  if  my  temperature  was  up;  malaria  has  an 
annoying  trick  of  coming  back.  When  it  does  come 
back,  you  get  moody  and  pessimistic.  Sorry  if  I 
bored  you  to-night !  " 

"  Perhaps  it  was  malaria,  but  I  wasn't  bored,"  said 
Mabel,  with  an  indulgent  smile. 


CHAPTER  It! 
PETERS'  OFFER 

WYXDHAM  and  Flora  were  married  at  a  small 
country  church.  The  morning  was  bright  and 
the  sun  touched  the  east  window  with  vivid  color  and 
pierced  the  narrow  lancets  on  the  south.  Red  and 
green  reflections  stained  the  mosaics  inside  the  chancel 
rails,  but  shadows  lurked  behind  the  arches  and  pillars, 
for  the  old  building  had  no  clerestory. 

Mabel  was  bridesmaid,  Marston  was  groomsman, 
and  as  he  waited  for  a  few  moments  by  the  rails  he 
looked  about.  Commodore  Chisholm  had  numerous 
friends,  and  for  the  most  part  Marston  knew  the  faces 
turned  towards  the  chancel.  He  had  sailed  hard  races 
against  some  of  the  men  and  danced  with  their  wives 
and  daughters.  They  were  sober  English  folk,  and  he 
was  glad  they  had  come  to  stamp  with  their  approval 
his  partner's  wedding.  Some,  however,  he  could  not 
see,  because  they  sat  back  in  the  gloom. 

Then  he  glanced  at  his  companions.  He  was 
nervous,  but  Mabel  was  marked  by  her  serene  calm. 
Flora's  look  was  rather  fixed,  and  although  she  had 
not  much  color,  her  pose  was  resolute  and  proud. 
Marston  wondered  whether  she  felt  she  was  making 
something  of  a  plunge;  but  if  she  did  so,  he  knew  she 
would  not  hesitate.  Chisholm's  face  was  quiet  and 
perhaps  a  trifle  stern;  he  looked  rather  old,  and 
Marston  imagined  him  resigned.  The  Commodore 
svas  frank ;  one  generally  knew  what  he  felt.  All  three 

142 


PETERS'  OFFER  143 

looked  typically  English,  but  Wyndham  did  not.  Al- 
though his  eyes  were  very  blue  and  his  hair  was 
touched  by  red,  he  was  different  from  the  others. 
His  face,  as  Marston  saw  it  in  profile,  was  thin  and 
in  a  way  ascetic,  but  it  wore  a  stamp  of  recklessness. 
His  pose  was  strangely  alert  and  highly  strung.  There 
was  something  exotic  about  him. 

The  vicar  began  the  office  and  Marston  remarked 
with  a  sense  of  annoyance  that  the  church  got  dark, 
as  if  the  sun  had  gone  behind  a  cloud.  He  was  not 
superstitious,  but  he  had  had  enough  of  gloom,  and 
the  fever  had  left  him  with  a  touch  of  melancholy. 
He  glanced  at  Mabel  and  felt  soothed.  Her  face  was 
quiet  and  reverent ;  she  was  unostentatiously  religious 
and  her  calm  confidence  banished  his  doubts.  After 
a  few  minutes,  the  light  got  stronger,  and  yielding  to 
a  strange  impulse,  he  looked  round.  A  sunbeam  shone 
through  a  south  window  and  picked  out  a  face  he  knew. 
Marston  moved  abruptly  and  came  near  forgetting 
how  he  was  engaged. 

The  face  stood  out,  yellow  and  withered,  against 
the  surrounding  shadow.  The  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
wedding  group  and  Marston  thought  their  look 
ironical,  but  the  bright  beam  faded  and  he  wondered 
whether  he  had  been  deceived.  It  was  hard  to  believe 
that  Peters,  whom  he  had  last  seen  at  the  lagoon,  was 
in  the  church,  and  Marston  hoped  he  was  not.  Peters 
belonged  to  the  fever-haunted  forest ;  he  brought  back 
the  gloom  and  sense  of  mystery  Bob  wanted  to  forget. 
There  was  something  strangely  inappropriate  about  his 
coming  to  Harry's  wedding. 

Wyndham  turned  his  head,  although  the  movement 
hardly  seemed  enough  to  enable  him  to  look  across  the 


144  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

church.  Marston,  however,  roused  himself,  for  he 
had  followed  the  office,  and  slipped  the  ring  into  his 
comrade's  hand.  Wyndham  put  it  on  the  book,  and 
then  as  the  vicar  gave  it  back,  let  it  drop.  There  was 
a  tinkle  as  it  struck  the  tiles  and,  for  a  moment,  an 
awkward  pause.  Flora  started  and  Chisholm  frowned, 
but  Marston  picked  up  the  ring  and  when  Wyndham 
put  it  on  Flora's  hand,  tried  to  feel  he  had  not  got  a 
jar.  Perhaps  he  was  ridiculous,  but  he  wished  Peters 
had  stayed  away  and  Harry  had  not  dropped  the  ring. 

There  was  no  further  mishap,  the  sun  shone  out 
again  and  as  its  beams  drove  back  the  shadows  the 
gilded  cross  above  the  screen  caught  the  light  and 
flashed.  Mabel  looked  up.  Marston  thought  her  un- 
conscious movement  directed  his  glance,  and  he  was 
moved  to  tenderness  and  calm.  After  the  feeling  of 
repugnance  Peters  had  excited,  the  thing  was  strangely 
significant  and  he  knew  the  glittering  symbol  was 
Mabel's  guiding  light. 

The  vicar  stopped.  Flora  gave  Marston  her  hand 
in  the  vestry  and  he  put  his  on  Wyndham's  shoulder 
as  he  wished  them  happiness.  In  a  few  minutes  they 
went  out  and  when  Wyndham's  car  drove  off  Marston 
stood  by  the  gate  with  Mabel,  waiting  for  theirs. 
People  stood  about  talking  to  one  another,  and 
Marston  tried  to  hide  his  annoyance  when  a  man  out- 
side the  group  caught  his  eye.  He  had  not  been  de- 
ceived; the  fellow  was  Peters,  for  he  smiled. 

For  a  moment  Marston  hesitated.  There  was,  how- 
ever, no  obvious  reason  for  his  refusing  to  acknowl- 
edge Peters,  and  he  nodded  when  he  advanced.  The 
latter's  clothes  were  in  the  latest  fashion ;  he  wore  light 
gloves  and  very  neat  varnished  shoes.  At  a  little  dis- 


PETERS'  OFFER  145 

tance  he  looked  like  a  prosperous  Englishman,  but  as 
he  came  up  and  took  off  his  hat  the  sun  touched  his 
yellow,  deep-lined  face  and  the  curious  white  tufts  in 
his  hair.  Then  he  looked  pinched  and  shriveled. 

"  I  hardly  thought  to  see  you.  Indeed,  I  imagined 
I  had  cheated  myself,"  Marston  remarked. 

Peters  laughed.  "  Our  meeting  is,  after  all,  not 
strange.  I  landed  a  few  days  since  and  stopped  to 
transact  some  business  before  I  go  on  to  Hamburg. 
A  paragraph  in  a  newspaper  caught  my  eye,  and,  hav- 
ing nothing  to  do  this  morning,  I  thought  I'd  come  to 
your  partner's  wedding.  Since  I  really  don't  know 
him  well  I  didn't  stop  him  as  he  came  out." 

"  Will  you  be  long  in  town  ?  "  Marston  asked. 

"  Another  day  or  two,"  said  Peters.  "  I  must  try 
to  look  you  up." 

He  stepped  back  as  a  car  started,  and  Marston  saw 
no  more  of  him.  On  the  whole,  he  thought  he  had 
seen  enough  and  was  annoyed  because  Peters  was  com- 
ing to  the  office.  This,  however,  was  not  important 
and  he  forgot  about  it. 

In  the  afternoon  Mabel  and  he  walked  across  a 
heathy  common  that  sloped  to  the  river  mouth.  The 
tide  was  ebbing  and  thin  white  lines  of  surf  curved 
about  the  sands.  Here  and  there  a  wet  belt  shone 
with  reflections  from  the  sky;  the  woods  and  fields 
on  the  western  shore  were  getting  dim,  and  a  long 
range  of  hills  rose  against  the  fading  light.  The  soft 
colors  and  the  hazy  distance,  where  one  heard  the  sea 
beat  on  the  outer  shoals,  were  restful  to  Marston's 
eyes.  He  loved  the  quiet  English  landscape,  and 
glancing  at  Mabel,  half -consciously  gave  thanks  be- 
cause he  was  at  home. 


146  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"Who  was  the  strange  little  man  at  the  church?" 
Mabel  asked  presently. 

"  Peters,"  said  Marston.  "  We  met  him  on  the 
Caribbean.  Did  you  think  him  strange?  " 

"  I  didn't  study  him.  His  eyes  were  strange;  they 
seemed  restless  and  very  keen.  The  white  tufts  in  his 
hair  were  unusual." 

"  Fever  leaves  its  stamp  when  you  get  it  often," 
Marston  remarked.  "  Besides,  I  expect  the  fellow 
has  had  some  romantic  adventures.  Anyhow,  he's 
not  a  friend  of  ours.  We  gave  him  dinner  on  board 
because  he  was  a  white  man.  That's  all." 

"  I  wonder  whether  Harry  saw  him,  just  before  he 
dropped  the  ring." 

"What  do  you  think?"  Marston  asked  with  some 
curiosity. 

"  I  don't  know.     Harry  looked  round." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Marston.  "  If  Harry  did  see  him, 
I  don't  imagine  it  had  much  to  do  with  his  dropping 
the  ring." 

Mabel  gave  him  a  quiet  glance.  She  knew  Bob  and 
thought  he  was  trying  to  persuade  himself,  not  to 
cheat  her. 

"  Yet  you  did  not  like  to  see  the  man !  " 

"  I  did  not,"  Marston  admitted.  "  He,  so  to  speak, 
brought  things  back ;  our  agent's  dying  and  the  dreams 
I  had  when  I  was  ill.  Some  people  belong  to  their 
surroundings.  I  mean,  they  stand  for  the  places  they 
come  from,  and  Peters  belongs  to  the  mangrove  la- 
goons. You  and  Flora  stand  for  England;  spots  like 
this  where  all's  bracing  and  calm.  I  think  we'll  let 
Peters  go." 

"  You're  very  nice,"  said  Mabel,  smiling.     "  If  we 


PETERS'  OFFER  147 

are  going  to  flatter  each  other,  you  stand  for  the  sea." 

"  No,"  said  Marston.  "  The  sea's  restless,  breezy, 
and  sparkling,  and  I'm  not.  You  have  got  a  rather 
dull  fellow  for  a  lover." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mabel  quietly,  "  you  are  my  lover,  Bob, 
and  that  means  much." 

She  mused  while  they  crossed  the  heath  in  the  fading 
light.  Bob  was  not  what  he  called  breezy  and  he  did 
not  sparkle,  but  she  would  not  have  him  other  than  he 
was.  She  had  not  often  seen  him  angry,  but  she  knew 
he  could  be  strongly  moved  and  forces  then  set  in  mo- 
tion were  not  easily  stopped.  Bob  was  steadfast ;  this 
was,  perhaps,  the  proper  word.  He  had  a  reserve  of 
strength  and  tenacity,  of  which  she  thought  he  was  not 
altogether  conscious.  She  had  loved  him  long  and  it 
was  significant  that  she  loved  him  better  than  at  the 
beginning. 

By  and  by  he  looked  at  her.  "  I  grudge  Harry  noth- 
ing and  have  much  for  which  I'm  thankful.  All  the 
same,  I  envied  him  his  luck  to-day." 

"Poor  old  Bob!"  said  Mabel.  "But  you  know, 
when  I  promised " 

He  nodded.  "  I  know  and  of  course  I'm  satisfied. 
I  can't  urge  you;  but  sometimes,  like  to-day,  waiting's 
hard." 

Mabel's  eyes  were  very  soft.  There  was  love  in 
her  glance,  but  he  got  a  hint  of  tears. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  will  not  be 
forced  to  wait  very  long."  She  paused  and  tried  to 
smile  as  she  resumed :  "  Never  mind,  Bob ;  you  needn't 
talk!  I  know  your  sympathy." 

He  said  nothing,  but  took  her  hand,  and  she  felt 
comforted.  Mrs.  Hilliard  was  a  widow  and  had  long 


148  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

been  ill,  and  Bob  had  known  Mabel  would  not  marry 
while  her  mother  needed  her.  At  the  beginning,  he 
had  urged  that  he  was  able  to  take  care  of  both,  and 
since  he  was  rich  things  might  be  made  easier  for  the 
invalid  if  she  lived  with  them.  Mabel,  however,  was 
firm,  and  Bob  gave  in.  He  would  not  argue  that  her 
sense  of  duty  was  perhaps  mistaken  and  Mrs.  Hillard's 
refusal  might  be  selfish.  Mabel's  strong  persuasion 
was  enough  for  him. 

"You  will  come  in  and  see  her?  She  has  been 
alone  all  clay,"  Mabel  said,  and  Marston  went. 

Mrs.  Hilliard  sat  by  the  fire  in  an  invalid's  chair, 
and  when  he  entered  gave  him  a  friendly  smile.  She 
looked  very  pinched  and  fragile  and  he  thought  Mabel's 
fears  were  justified.  For  an  hour  he  talked  about 
the  wedding  and  other  matters  as  cheerfully  as  he 
could,  and  when  he  went  Mabel  kissed  him  at  the 
gate. 

"  You  are  very  good,  Bob,"  she  said.  "  I  owe  you 
much  and  some  day  I'll  try  to  pay  my  debt." 

In  the  morning  Marston  went  to  the  office  and  soon 
afterwards  Peters  was  shown  in.  Marston  gave  him 
a  cigar  and  they  talked  about  the  Caribbean. 

"  I'm  beginning  to  feel  I've  had  enough,"  Peters 
presently  remarked.  "  Life  in  the  swamps  is  strenu- 
ous and  one  likes  quiet  when  one's  no  longer  young." 

"  On  the  surface,  things  looked  pretty  dull.  I  felt 
languid  as  soon  as  I  arrived  and  didn't  really  wake 
up  until  I  left." 

Peters  smiled.  "  Yet  I  imagine  you  found  the 
monotony  is  sometimes  broken.  Besides,  you  didn't 
stay  long  enough  to  learn  that  much  that's  curious 
goes  on  beneath  the  surface.  There's  an  under- 


PETERS'  OFFER  149 

world."  He  paused  and  added  meaningly :  "  On  the 
whole,  I  think  the  term  is  pretty  good." 

"  I  was  satisfied  with  the  surface.  Anyhow,  I 
didn't  try  to  look  beneath,"  Marston  rejoined,  with 
some  dryness.  "  In  fact,  I'd  sooner  leave  some  things 
alone."  ' 

"  A  prudent  resolve,  when  one  can  carry  it  out ! 
But  d'you  imagine  your  partner  controlled  his 
curiosity?  " 

Marston  feared  that  Wyndham  had  not,  and 
frowned,  because  he  felt  Peters  had  meant  his  re- 
mark to  be  significant.  The  latter  resumed:  "Of 
course,  you  can  live  tranquilly  at  the  old  Spanish 
ports;  that  is,  if  you  are  sober  and  resist  the  dark- 
skinned  sefioritas'  charms.  Perhaps  the  worst  risk  a 
rash  stranger  runs  is  being  found  in  a  dark  calle  with 
a  jealous  half-breed's  knife  in  his  back.  In  order  to 
get  hurt,  you  must  court  danger;  in  the  swamps  it 
haunts  you.  Of  course,  if  you  trade  in  the  regular 
markets,  the  profit  is  not  large;  but  if  I  could  get  a 
good  post  at  a  port  with  a  casino  and  cafes,  I  think 
I'd  be  satisfied." 

"  Haven't  your  employers  a  job  that  would  suit  to 
offer  you?"  Marston  asked  carelessly. 

"  They  have  not.  They  have  been  grumbling  re- 
cently and  hinting  that  I've  got  slack.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  have  some  grounds.  My  knowledge  of 
the  business  is  pretty  extensive,  but  since  your  partner 
came  on  the  scene  the  goods  we  want  to  get  have  gone 
to  Wyndhams'.  I'm  now  going  to  Hamburg  to  ac- 
count for  this,  but  doubt  if  I  can  do  so  satisfactorily. 
My  explanation's  rather  romantic  than  plausible." 

"Then,  yon  have  an  explanation?" 


150  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Peters  smiled.  "  Yes.  It  looks  as  if  the  Bat  had 
let  his  old  friends  go  and  taken  Wyndham  up." 

"  Ridiculous!  "  said  Marston.  "  What  has  the  Bat 
to  do  with  trade?  He's  not  a  merchant  or  a  cul- 
tivator." 

"  For  all  that,  the  fellow  has  power.  The  Presi- 
dent rules  the  cities,  the  guardias  rurales  the  cleared 
land,  but  the  Bat  and  the  devil  rule  the  bush.  I  know 
half-civilized  Mestizos  who  believe  the  Bat  is  the  devil. 
Anyhow,  he's  a  useful  friend." 

"  He's  not  my  friend,"  Marston  rejoined.  "  How- 
ever, if  your  employers  are  not  satisfied,  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  help." 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  said  Peters.  "  I  know  the  bush, 
the  negroes,  and  their  habits,  as  few  white  men  know 
them,  and  my  knowledge  is  worth  much  to  a  merchant 
house.  Well,  I'm  not  greedy  and  imagine  you'd  find 
it  worth  while  to  give  me  a  small  partnership;  or,  if 
you'd  sooner,  appoint  me  your  agent  at  a  port  from 
which  I  could  control  the  lagoon  trade." 

Marston  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise.  On  the 
whole,  he  did  not  like  the  fellow  and  he  had  no 
grounds  for  trusting  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  agree,"  he  replied.  "  We  have 
a  pretty  good  agent  at  all  the  ports  where  we  trade,  and 
Wyndham  sent  a  man  he  was  satisfied  about  to  the 
lagoon.  Our  business  is  not  large  enough  to  justify 
our  taking  a  new  partner." 

"  The  business  is  extending.  Would  you  like  to 
talk  to  Wyndham  about  it?  " 

"  He  won't  be  back  for  some  time,  and  I  expect 
he'll  agree  that  we  don't  need  help.  I  think  you  had 
better  stick  to  your  Hamburg  friends." 


PETERS'  OFFER  151 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Peters  philosophically,  "  it  looks 
as  if  I  must  drop  the  plan,  but  if  you  need  me  later, 
you  know  where  I  can  be  found.  In  the  meantime, 
we'll  let  it  go.  When  I  left,  Ramon  Larrinaga  sent 
you  his  compliments.  He's  getting  an  important  man ; 
had  some  part  in  the  plot  that  put  the  new  president 
in  power  and  has,  no  doubt,  claimed  his  reward." 

"  You  may  give  him  our  congratulations  when  you 
go  back,"  Marston  replied,  and  soon  afterwards  Peters 
went  off. 

Marston  smoked  a  cigarette  and  reviewed  his  vis- 
itor's remarks.  The  fellow  had  implied  that  Wynd- 
ham  had,  by  some  means,  gained  the  Bat's  support,  and 
this  jarred.  Perhaps  it  jarred  worse  because  Marston 
had  tried  to  banish  suspicions  that  chimed  with  the 
hint.  Then  he  imagined  Peters'  offer  was  rather 
made  to  Wyndham  than  to  him.  Marston  meant  to 
urge  his  partner  to  refuse.  He  did  not  want  to  see 
Peters  again,  but  doubted.  The  fellow  was  cunning 
and  obstinate.  By-and-by  Marston  threw  away  his 
cigarette  and  rang  for  his  clerk.  He  would  not 
bother  about  Peters  until  he  was  forced.  In  fact,  if 
Peters  did  not  come  back,  he  was  not  sure  he  would 
tell  Wyndham  about  it  at  all. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   LOST    EXPLORERS 

THE  days  were  getting  longer  and  although  the 
evening  was  cold  Marston  rejoiced  that  winter 
had  gone.  He  had  worked  hard  at  the  office  until 
Wyndham's  return  from  his  honeymoon,  and  now  he 
was  glad  to  get  on  the  water  again.  Putting  down  his 
oars,  he  let  Red  Rose's  dinghy  drift,  because  he 
doubted  if  the  tide  had  risen  enough  to  carry  him 
across  the  sands.  A  bitter  wind  blew  up  the  estuary, 
where  belts  of  shining  water  wound  among  the  shoals, 
and  some  distance  astern  Red  Rose  rode  at  her  moor- 
ings in  a  sheltered  pool.  For  half  a  mile,  sand  and 
shallow  water  ran  between  Marston  and  the  beach. 

He  had  brought  the  yacht  round  from  a  neigh- 
boring river  mouth  where  the  smoke  of  a  busy  port 
blackened  her  gear,  and  had  since  been  occupied  on 
board.  Now  he  was  pleasantly  tired,  hungry,  and 
braced  by  the  cold.  He  knew  no  amusement  that 
gave  him  as  much  satisfaction  as  working  on  board  a 
yacht.  In  fact,  if  one  went  about  the  thing  properly. 
it  was  really  a  scientific  job. 

The  dinghy  grounded,  and  letting  her  bump  across 
the  sand,  he  lighted  his  pipe  and  reviewed  his  changed 
life  since  Wyndham  won  the  Commodore's  cup. 
Things  had  begun  to  change  then.  For  the  most  part, 
he  had  worked  hard ;  at  first  as  Columbine's  mate  and 
supercargo,  afterwards  as  a  merchant's  clerk.  Al- 

152 


THE  LOST  EXPLORERS  153 

though  he  had  a  invested  a  good  sum,  he  was  really  a 
clerk.  Sometimes  he  stated  his  views  and  Wyndham 
listened  politely;  but  when  one  came  to  think  about 
it,  Harry  did  not  tell  him  much.  Then  he  did  not  al- 
together understand  transactions  in  which  the  house 
engaged. 

For  all  that,  Marston  was  not  hurt.  He  admitted 
that  his  judgment  was  not  worth  much.  He  had  not, 
like  Harry,  been  trained  for  business.  In  fact,  it  was 
something  of  a  relief  when  Harry  came  home  and  he 
got  rid  of  his  responsibility,  although  he  thought  he 
had,  on  the  whole,  managed  rather  well.  Recently, 
he  had  taken  things  easier  and  Wyndham  had  en- 
couraged him  to  do  so.  He  suggested  Marston's  go- 
ing off  for  a  few  days  now  and  then,  and  told  him  not 
to  bother  about  the  office  while  he  fitted  out  Red  Rose. 
Harry  was  a  good  sort,  and  since  he  did  not  need 
him,  Marston  was  glad  to  occupy  himself  with  the 
yacht. 

By-and-by  the  dinghy  floated  off  the  shoal  and 
Marston  saw  the  Welsh  hills  on  the  other  shore  were 
getting  dim  and  blue.  He  was  cold  and  drove  the 
little  boat  briskly  across  the  rippling  water.  Carry- 
ing her  up  the  beach,  he  went  to  an  inn  where  he  left 
his  yachting  clothes  and  then  set  out  across  the  heathy 
common  for  Mrs.  Hilliard's  house.  Mabel  gave  him 
tea  by  the  fire  and  when  it  got  dark  outside  they 
talked  in  the  flickering  glow.  Flora,  Wyndham  and 
Chisholm  were  coming  to  dinner,  but  would  not  arrive 
yet.  and  Marston  lounged  contentedly  in  a  big  easy 
chair. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I'm  tired  or  lazy,"  he  remarked. 
"  Anyhow,  it's  very  nice  to  sit  by  the  fire  with  you." 


154  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  When  you're  lazy  ?  "  said  Mabel,  with  a  smile. 

"  Always,"  Marston  declared.  "  However,  you  get 
a  particular  satisfaction  from  loafing  after  you  have 
had  a  good  day." 

"On  board  the  yacht?  I'm  not  jealous,  Bob,  but 
you  haven't  been  to  the  office  much." 

"  That  is  so,"  Marston  admitted.  "  I  was  rather 
keen  about  the  business;  in  fact,  I'm  keen  yet.  I  like 
to  know  how  things  are  going,  even  if  I  can't  help; 
but  the  boat's  a  temptation  and  Harry  doesn't  need  me 
all  the  time." 

"  Do  you  know  how  things  are  going  ?  " 

"  For  the  most  part,"  Marston  replied,  with  a  touch 
of  embarrassment,  because  he  sometimes  felt  he  did 
not  know  as  much  as  he  would  like.  "  I  don't  bother 
about  small  particulars." 

"  Has  Harry  stated  he  did  not  need  you  ?  Or  did 
you  imagine  this,  and  make  it  an  excuse  for  a  holi- 
day?" 

Marston  pondered  for  a  moment  or  two.  He  did 
not  altogether  approve  Mabel's  line,  perhaps  because 
it  excited  doubts  he  had  tried  to  banish. 

"  Harry  knows  I  like  pottering  about  the  boat,"  he 
said.  "  He  has  hinted  that  I  needn't  stick  to  business 
quite  so  close  now  he's  in  control.  After  all,  there's 
hardly  enough  work  for  two  partners." 

Mabel  let  this  go.  She  knew  Bob  and  thought  he 
was  rather  trying  to  justify  Wyndham  than  to  find 
an  excuse  for  his  own  laziness.  It  looked  as  if  he 
suspected  his  partner  was  willing  to  get  rid  of  him 
now  and  then.  Moreover,  Bob  was  not  lazy. 

"Harry's  occupied  pretty  closely,  is  he  not?"  she 
said.  "  I  have  thought  he  looks  tired." 


THE  LOST  EXPLORERS  155 

"  That  is  so,"  agreed  Marston,  who  had  recently 
noted  a  hint  of  strain  about  his  comrade.  Wyndham 
was  sometimes  impatient;  his  gay  carelessness  had 
gone.  "  After  all,  managing  a  business  like  ours  is 
not  an  easy  job,"  he  resumed.  "  Things,  however,  are 
going  well  and  I  imagine  I  made  a  sound  investment. 
In  fact,  we're  getting  rich." 

A  car  rolled  up  the  drive  and  Mabel  rang  for  lights. 
Flora,  Wyndham,  and  Chisholm  came  in  and  soon 
afterwards  dinner  was  served.  Mrs.  Milliard  did  not 
come  down  and  Mabel,  sitting  at  the  top  of  the  table, 
studied  her  guests.  Flora  looked  charming;  she  had 
since  her  marriage  got  a  touch  of  dignity.  Mabel 
thought  she  was  happy,  but  now  and  then  she  gave 
her  husband  a  quick  glance.  Wyndham  was  thin,  and 
although  he  talked  and  laughed,  when  he  was  quiet 
the  jaded  look  Mabel  had  remarked  was  plain.  She 
knew  Bob's  mind  and  his  puzzled  uneasiness  about  his 
partner  that  he  would  not  own.  Chisholm,  she 
thought,  was  altogether  satisfied,  and  the  grounds  for 
his  satisfaction  were  obvious.  Wyndhams'  was  pros- 
pering, and  his  consent  to  his  daughter's  marriage  was 
justified.  Still,  Chisholm  did  not  see  very  far. 

When  they  got  up  Mabel  gave  them  coffee  by  the 
fire  in  the  hall  and  told  the  men  to  smoke.  Chisholm, 
feeling  for  his  tobacco,  pulled  a  piece  of  newspaper 
from  his  pocket. 

"  Have  you  read  the  news  to-day  ? "  he  asked 
Wyndham. 

"  I  have  not,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  One  may  be 
able  to  study  newspapers  at  the  office  of  a  naviga- 
tion board,  but  my  job  is  not  a  sinecure.  Besides, 
Bob  deserted  me,  and  I'd  hardly  time  for  lunch." 


156  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  Then,  I've  something  that  may  interest  you.  I 
cut  the  thing  out,  in  case  you  missed  it.  It's  headed, 
'A  tragic  story  of  tropical  adventure.'  ' 

Wyndham  looked  up,  rather  sharply,  and  held  out 
his  hand  for  the  cutting,  but  Marston  said  to  Chisholm, 
"  Suppose  you  read  it.  Then  we'll  all  hear." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Chisholm,  who  polished  his  spec- 
tacles and  began: 

"  '  Some  time  since,  a  small  exploring  expedition 
started  inland  from  the  Salinas  coast  of  the  Carib- 
bean." He  stopped  and  asked :  "  Isn't  that  the  coun- 
try you  are  exploiting  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Wyndham,  with  some  dryness.  "  It's 
not  a  healthy  country  for  white  explorers,  unless 
they're  acclimatized.  But  go  on." 

"  '  The  party  consisted  of  a  commercial  botanist,  a 
student  of  tropical  diseases,  a  mining  expert,  and  a 
trader  stationed  on  the  coast.' ' 

"  Peters !  "  said  Wyndham,  looking  at  Marston. 
"  No  doubt,  he  persuaded  the  others ;  I  expected  the 
fellow  would  try  to  get  on  our  track." 

"  That's  the  name,"  said  Chisholm  and  resumed : 
"  '  The  party  engaged  a  number  of  half-breed  porters 
and  set  off,  although  they  had  been  warned  the  bush 
country  was  disturbed.  The  belt  of  swampy  forest 
was  penetrated  by  the  Spaniards  four  hundred  years 
since,  but  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  little  known  by 
white  men,  and  its  Mestizo  and  negro  inhabitants  dis- 
like strangers.' ' 

'  The  newspaper  man  seems  remarkabfy  well  in- 
formed," Wyndham  observed.  "  I  expect  he  has  a 
correspondent  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  '  When  some  time  had  gone  and  no  news  of  the 


THE  LOST  EXPLORERS  157 

explorers  reached  the  coast,  the  government  got 
alarmed,'  "  Chisholm  went  on.  "  '  Sefior  Larrinaga, 
the  head  official  for  the  district,  fitted  out  a  rescue 
expedition  and  searched  the  forest.  They  found  one 
survivor,  the  trader  Peters,  exhausted  by  suffering.' ' 

"  Peters  said  Ramon  Larrinaga  was  getting  an  im- 
portant man,"  Marston  interposed.  "  Sorry,  sir! 
please  don't  stop." 

"  '  Peters'  story  was  tragic.  The  porters  had  got 
uneasy  soon  after  the  start,  but  their  employers  forced 
them  to  go  on,  until  one  night,  when  the  party  stopped 
at  an  empty  village,  they  vanished.  In  the  morning, 
Peters  left  his  companions,  with  the  object  of  over- 
taking the  porters,  but  lost  their  track,  and  returning 
in  two  or  three  days,  found  the  others  dead.  They 
were  in  a  native  hut  and  he  saw  no  indication  that 
violence  had  been  used.  Since  the  party  carried  their 
own  provisions,  it  did  not  look  as  if  they  had  been 
poisoned.  Sefior  Larrinaga  had  some  trouble  to  reach 
the  village.  The  half-breeds  and  negroes  in  the  forest 
belt  are  turbulent  and  rebellious  and  the  rescue  party 
was  small.  He,  however,  pushed  on  and  when  he  ar- 
rived found  the  hut  had  been  burned  and  nobody 
about.  Two  of  the  explorers  had  previously  under- 
taken the  development  of  rubber  and  mining  conces- 
sions for  merchants  of  this  city,  by  whom  their  mys- 
terious fate  is  much  regretted.' ' 

Chisholm  put  down  the  cutting  and  the  others  were 
silent  for  a  few  moments.  Wyndham  looked  dis- 
turbed, but  lighted  a  cigarette,  rather  deliberately. 

"  Peters  ought  not  to  have  taken  those  fellows  into 
the  bush.  He  knew  the  risk,"  he  said. 

"  The  others  probably  knew  it,  since  the  paper  states 


158  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

they  had  done  such  work  before,"  Marston  replied. 

"  I  think  not.  Anyhow,  they  did  not  know  all  the 
risk.  Peters  did.  It's  significant  that  he  escaped." 

"  You  don't  imply  that  he  ought  not  to  have 
escaped?"  Chisholm  said,  with  some  surprise. 

"  Certainly  not.  Still  the  fellow's  cunning  and 
greedy.  I  expect  he  got  up  the  expedition,  and  he 
gambled  with  his  companions'  lives.  If  he  had  won, 
I  don't  imagine  they  would  have  got  much  of  the 
reward." 

Mabel  studied  Wyndham.  It  was  plain  that  he 
did  not  like  Peters  and  she  thought  he  had  some 
grounds  for  resenting  his  attempt  to  explore  the  coun- 
try. Wyndham  was  a  trader  and  Peters,  no  doubt, 
a  rival,  but  she  did  not  think  he  was  altogether  moved 
by  commercial  jealousy.  Somehow  the  thing  went 
deeper  than  this.  His  voice  was  level,  but  she  saw 
his  calm  was  forced.  Mabel  remembered  that  he  had 
taken  some  time  to  light  his  cigarette. 

"  The  half-breeds  seem  to  be  a  lot  of  savage 
brutes,"  Chisholm  remarked.  "  What  stock  do  they 
spring  from?  The  Carib?" 

"  The  African  strain  is  strongest,  and  pure  negroes 
are  numerous.  In  Central  and  part  of  South  America, 
it's  hard  to  fix  the  origin  of  the  population.  About  the 
cities,  they've  made  some  progress  and  a  number  of 
their  institutions  are  good.  In  the  swamps  I  know 
best,  they  have  gone  back  to  rules  of  life  the  slaves 
brought  from  Africa  long  since.  If  you  want  to  un- 
derstand them,  that's  important." 

"  Do  you  think  the  Bat  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  explorers  getting  killed  ?  "  Marston  asked. 

"  We  don't  know  they  were  killed,  and  the  Bat's 


THE  LOST  EXPLORERS  159 

rather  a  bogey  of  yours,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  Any- 
how, from  one  point  of  view,  perhaps  his  efforts  to 
keep  out  Peters  and  his  gang  were  justified.  The 
country  belongs  to  the  Bat  and  his  friends ;  their  rules 
are  not  ours,  but  they  suit  the  people  who  use  them, 
and  I  expect  they  know  what  often  happens  to  a 
colored  race  when  white  men  take  control.  Semi- 
civilization  and  industrial  servitude,  forced  on  you  for 
others'  benefit,  are  a  poor  exchange  for  liberty." 

"You  mean  their  leaders  know?"  said  Mabel. 
"  They  would  lose  their  power  when  the  white  men 
came  ?  " 

\Yyndham  said  nothing  for  a  moment  and  Marston 
imagined  he  was  getting  impatient.  Then  Flora  gave 
him  a  puzzled  glance  and  he  smiled. 

"  Did  the  fellow  you  thought  the  Bat  look  very- 
powerful,  Bob?"  he  asked. 

"  In  a  way,  he  did  not,"  said  Marston.  "  He  was 
a  dirty,  ragged  old  impostor  —  and  yet  I  don't  know. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  grin,  but  you  got  a  hint  that  he  was 
a  bigger  man  than  he  looked.  There  was  something 
about  him " 

"Something  Mephistophelian? "  Wyndham  sug- 
gested with  a  twinkle. 

"  But  Mephistopheles  was  rather  a  gentleman," 
Flora  remarked. 

"  That's  it !  You  have  given  me  the  clew  I  was 
feeling  for,"  said  Marston.  "  You  felt  the  old  fellow 
might  have  been  a  gentleman  long  since  and  had  de- 
generated. Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  his  con- 
founded grin  was  ironical;  as  if  he  knew  your  point 
of  view  and  laughed  at  it.  In  fact,  I  imagine  he 
laughed  at  himself;  at  his  claim  to  be  a  magician  and 


160  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  tricks  he  used.  A  cynical  brute,  perhaps,  but  he 
was  not  a  fool." 

"Aren't  you  getting  romantic,  Bob?"  Flora  asked. 

Marston  said  nothing.  He  had  seen  Wyndham's 
frown  and  imagined  he  had  had  enough.  For  a  few 
moments  Mabel  studied  both.  She  saw  Bob  wanted 
to  talk  about  something  else,  but  she  did  not  mean 
to  help  him  yet.  His  portrait  of  the  old  mulatto  had 
given  her  ground  for  thought.  For  one  thing,  it  had 
disturbed  Wyndham,  and  she  wondered  why.  She 
was  not  deceived  when  Wyndham  laughed. 

"  As  a  rule,  Bob  is  not  romantic,  but  he  was  ill 
before  he  left  the  lagoon  and  fever  excites  one's 
imagination.  We'll  let  it  go.  Did  you  shift  the  bal- 
last they  stowed  forward  of  Red  Rose's  mast,  Bob?" 

"  I  did.  We  moved  half  a  ton  of  iron  and  she  trims 
much  better  with  it  aft,"  Marston  replied. 

Then  they  talked  about  the  yacht  until  Mabel  got 
up  and  took  them  to  the  drawing-room.  She  was 
curious,  but  in  the  meantime  did  not  think  her  cur- 
iosity would  be  satisfied.  Bob  knew  no  more  than 
he  had  told  and  it  was  plain  that  Wyndham  meant  to 
use  reserve. 


CHAPTER  V 

WYNDHAM    CHANGES    HIS    PLAN 

THERE  was  no  wind,  the  sun  was  hot,  and  the 
reflection  of  Red  Rose's  mast  and  rigging 
trembled  on  the  shining  sea.  She  rode  at  anchor  in  a 
quiet  bay,  near  the  woods  that  rolled  down  to  the 
smooth  white  boulders.  Dark  firs  checkered  the  fresh 
green  of  the  beeches  and  the  bronzy  yellow  of  the  new 
oak  leaves.  The  tide  flowed  smoothly  past  the  yacht, 
and  across  the  strait  a  lonely  cloud  threw  a  soft  blue 
shadow  on  the  scarred  face  of  a  lofty  crag.  Now  and 
then  the  echoes  of  a  blasting  shot  rolled  among  the 
hills.  Flora  sat  in  the  yacht's  cockpit.  She  wore  a 
pale  yellow  dress  that  harmonized  with  her  brown  eyes 
and  hair.  Wyndham  lay  on  the  counter,  smoking  a 
cigarette,  and  when  she  thought  he  did  not  see  her 
Flora  gave  him  a  careful  glance.  After  a  few  days 
at  sea,  Harry's  face  was  getting  brown  and  he  was 
losing  his  jaded  look,  but  he  was  thin  and  she  did 
not  like  the  way  his  mouth  was  set.  He  had  been 
working  hard  for  some  time,  and  now  he  had  taken  a 
holiday  the  strain  he  had  borne  did  not  relax.  Flora 
did  not  altogether  understand  this,  because  things  were 
going  well  with  Wyndhams'. 

She  looked  up  the  strait.  Not  far  off  an  old  castle 
stood  upon  a  lawn  where  a  long  green  point  ran  out, 
and  the  spot  had  romantic  memories  for  her.  She 
had  promised  to  marry  Harry  on  the  lawn,  one  sum- 
mer night  when  the  yacht's  lanterns  twinkled  in  the 

161 


162  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

roadstead  and  colored  fires  burned  on  the  castle  walls. 
Wyndham  lifted  his  head,  and  smiled  when  he  saw 
where  she  was  looking. 

"  It  is  not  very  long  since,  scarcely  twelve  months, 
but  much  has  happened  in  the  meantime,"  he  said. 

"How  did  you  know — ?"  Flora  asked  and 
blushed. 

"  Your  thoughts  were  in  your  eyes ;  gentle  thoughts. 
It  looks  as  if  you  were  not  disillusioned  yet!" 

"  I'm  not,"  'said  Flora,  firmly.  "  For  all  that,  I 
don't  know  if  I  like  you  when  you're  cynical." 

"  It's  a  relapse,  or  perhaps  a  reaction.  Living  up 
to  your  standard  is  a  bit  of  a  strain  now  and  then." 

"Would  you  sooner  I  lowered  the  standard  ? '' 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Wyndham,  with  a  twinkle. 
"  Keep  it  as  high  as  you  can  for  yourself,  so  long  as 
you  are  willing  to  make  some  allowances  for  me." 

"  That's  a  man's  point  of  view,''  Flora  remarked. 
"  However,  on  the  whole,  you're  very  good.  I  really 
don't  get  many  jars." 

She  studied  him  and  mused.  Harry  was  all,  or  very 
nearly  all,  she  had  thought,  and  she  was  happy. 
Sometimes,  perhaps,  she  wished  he  would  give  her  a 
little  more  of  his  confidence,  about  the  office  for  ex- 
ample. The  control  of  the  extending  business  was  not 
easy;  she  saw  he  had  cares  he  did  not  talk  about. 
He  was  a  handsome  man  and  she  approved  the  fas- 
tidious neatness  of  his  white  yachting  clothes,  but  he 
looked  fine-drawn.  Flora  rather  liked  this  half-ascetic 
look;  Harry  had  no  gross  passions  to  draw  him  away 
from  her,  although  she  sometimes  feared  she  had  a 
rival  in  his  ambition.  He  was  ambitious  and  did  not 
tell  her  much  about  his  plans. 


WYNDHAM  CHANGES  HIS  PLAN     163 

She  looked  about.  Near  the  point,  a  little  varnished 
boat  shone  in  the  strong  light.  Bob  had  taken  Mabel 
for  a  row  in  the  dinghy. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  them,"  she  remarked. 

"Sorry  for  whom?"  said  Wyndham,  and  turned 
his  head.  "  Oh,  yes ;  it's  hard  for  Bob !  Mabel,  no 
doubt,  gets  some  satisfaction  from  feeling  she's  doing 
what  she  ought.  I,  myself,  don't  know  if  she  ought 
or  not,  but  this  doesn't  matter  so  long  as  Bob's  per- 
suaded. Well,  I  suppose  she's  worth  waiting  for  and 
Bob  is  patient." 

"  You  are  not  patient,"  Flora  rejoined.  "  You  re- 
fused to  wait." 

Wyndham  gave  her  a  twinkling  smile.  "  Xo ;  I 
hadn't  Bob's  advantages.  I  seized  my  chance,  and 
made  a  plunge.  So,  I  think,  did  you !  " 

"  After  all,  I  wasn't  very  rash.  I  knew  you  better 
than  my  friends ;  but  I'll  own  to  feeling  proud  because 
they're  all  satisfied.  You  were  not  very  long  per- 
suading them." 

"  It  cost  me  something,"  said  Wyndham  quietly. 
"  However,  we'll  let  it  go.  I  mean  to  have  a  lazy 
day  and  brace  up  for  our  climbing  trip  in  the  morning. 
I  sent  a  message  that  we  would  need  a  car." 

Flora  nodded  and  glanced  at  a  peak  that  rose  behind 
the  hills  across  the  sparkling  strait.  She  was  a  moun- 
taineer and  sometimes  wondered  whether  she  liked 
best  the  high  rocks  or  the  sea.  Then  she  turned  and 
noted  a  long  plume  of  smoke  that  rolled  across  the 
woods. 

"  The  early  boat  from  town,"  she  said. 

A  steamer  swung  round  the  point  and  headed  for 
the  yacht,  piling  the  oily  water  in  a  wave  at  her  bows. 


164  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

The  thud  of  her  paddles  nearly  drowned  the  music  of 
the  band  on  board,  and  confused  echoes  rang  among 
the  trees.  A  group  of  passengers  forward  sang  lus- 
tily and  a  row  leaned  against  the  rail. 

"  She'll  pass  pretty  close,"  said  Wyndham.  "  I 
wonder  whether  anybody  we  know  is  on  board." 

Flora  picked  up  the  glasses  and  Wyndham,  resting 
on  his  elbow,  turned  his  head.  The  steamer  drove 
on.  a  feather  of  foam  shooting  up  her  stem,  and 
Wyndham  languidly  studied  the  faces  of  the  pas- 
sengers. Then,  when  she  was  level  with  the  yacht, 
he  moved  abruptly,  for  a  short,  thin  man  with  a  yellow 
face  sat  on  a  bench,  looking  at  Red  Rose. 

"Do  you  see  somebody?  Shall  I  give  you  the 
glasses?"  Flora  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Wyndham,  sharply.  "  Hold  fast ! 
Look  out  for  her  wash !  " 

Flora  seized  the  coaming  and  the  white  wave  from 
the  steamer's  paddles  lifted  the  yacht.  Red  Rose 
plunged  violently  and  when  she  steadied,  the  passen- 
ger boat  was  slowing  near  the  pier.  Flora  put  down 
the  glasses  and  turned  to  Wyndham.  She  had  seen 
the  little  man  on  the  bench  and  imagined  Harry  was 
studying  him.  The  fellow  looked  like  a  foreigner  and 
she  did  not  like  his  face.  Yet  it  was  strange  his  being 
on  board  the  steamer  had  annoyed  Harry.  She 
thought  it  had  annoyed  him,  although  the  need  to  warn 
her  about  the  wash  perhaps  accounted  for  the  sharp- 
ness of  his  voice. 

"  I  saw  a'l  T  wanted."  Wyndham  resumed,  with  a 
touch  of  grimness.  "  I  thought  you  might  drop  the 
glasses  when  the  wave  struck  us.  If  I  wasn't  lazy, 
I'd  send  a  complaint  to  the  office  about  their  driving 


WYNDHAM  CHANGES  HIS  PLAN      165 

their  boats  full  speed  across  a  yacht  anchorage.     Has 
the  splash  hurt  your  dress?  " 

Flora  looked  down  and  shook  the  sparkling  drops 
from  the  thin  material. 

'  This  stuff  won't  spoil.     A  dress  that  will  spoil 
is  no  use  for  yachting;  I've  been  to  sea  before." 

Soon  afterwards  the  others  returned.  They  had 
promised  to  lunch  with  Chisholm  at  the  hotel  where 
Flora  and  Mabel  had  a  room,  but  by  and  by  Wyndham 
remarked : 

"  I  feel  rather  dull  and  think  I  won't  go  ashore. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  stay,  Bob,  and  we'll  fit  the  new 
rigging  screws.  The  others  look  as  if  the  hooks  might 
draw  in  a  hard  breeze." 

"  Stay  if  you  like,"  said  Flora.  "  You  have  come 
for  a  holiday.  Are  you  sure  you  feel  equal  to  our 
climb  in  the  morning?" 

\Yyndham  hesitated.  "  I'd  hate  to  disappoint  you, 
but  I  am  lazy.  I  found  the  scramble  up  the  big  gully 
hard  enough  the  last  time  I  went  along  the  ridge,  and 
I  hadn't  been  to  Africa  then.  After  close  work  in  an 
office,  three  thousand  feet  and  some  awkward  rock 
climbing  is  a  stiff  pull." 

Flora  looked  at  the  others.  Harry  was  tired  and 
rather  slack,  and  she  wanted  to  indulge  him.  It  was 
something  of  a  relief  when  Marston  played  up. 

"  We  came  for  a  cruise,  not  to  climb  hills,"  he  said. 
"  Let's  stop  and  go  fishing  in  the  dinghy." 

"  There  aren't  many  fish  and  digging  bait's  a 
bother,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  I've  a  better  plan. 
The  wind  will  turn  east  at  sunset  and  there  is  a  moon. 
Suppose  we  run  down  the  coast  to  Carmeltown  an:! 
see  the  Irish  boats  finish  their  cross-channel  race?  " 


166  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

The  others  agreed  and  in  the  evening  Red  Rose  left 
the  anchorage.  It  was  getting  dark  when  they  hoisted 
sail,  but  Marston,  who  occupied  with  the  halyards, 
thought  he  heard  a  distant  shout.  Looking  round,  he 
saw  a  dinghy  near  the  point. 

"Is  that  somebody  hailing  us?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Wyndham.  "  There  are 
other  boats  about.  But  be  careful ;  you've  got  the  top- 
sail yard  foul  of  the  lift." 

Marston  pulled  the  yard  clear,  and  dropping  down 
the  channel  through  the  sands,  they  stole  out  to  sea. 
A  light  east  wind  blew  behind  them,  the  water  sparkled 
as  the  moon  rose,  and  shadowy  woods  and  dark  hills 
opened  out  and  faded  on  their  port  side.  The  night 
was  warm,  the  sea  ran  in  long  undulations,  wrinkled 
by  the  breeze.  In  the  distance  one  heard  surf  break 
upon  the  reefs,  and  now  and  then  a  steamer  with 
throbbing  engines  went  by.  Wyndham  lounged  at 
the  tiller,  Marston  and  Mabel  sat  under  the  booby 
hatch  and  talked  quietly,  while  Flora,  in  the  cockpit 
sang  a  song.  Red  Rose,  lurching  gently  with  all  sail 
set,  headed  for  the  west. 

"  Harry's  plan  is  good,"  Flora  remarked  when  she 
finished  her  song.  "  There  are  two  grand  things,  the 
sea  and  the  mountains;  but,  on  a  night  like  this,  I 
like  the  sea  best." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  happy  and  I  hope  you  are," 
rejoined  Mabel.  "  The  trouble  about  dividing  your 
affection  between  two  objects  is,  when  you  get  one 
you  feel  you  want  the  other." 

"  That  is  so  now  and  then,"  Flora  agreed.  "  When 
you  can't  have  both,  you  are  forced  to  choose  and 
choosing's  generally  hard." 


WYNDHAM  CHANGES  HIS  PLAN     167 

"  You  let  Harry  choose  for  you.  Perhaps  it's  a 
good  plan,  but  I  don't  know  if  I'll  use  it  much  with 
Bob." 

Flora  laughed  and  thought  Mabel's  remark  was  jus- 
tified. It  looked  as  if  Harry  had  meant  to  leave  the 
strait,  although  he  had  said  nothing  about  this  until 
the  passenger  boat  arrived.  Anyhow,  it  did  not  mat- 
ter. She  was  glad  to  indulge  him  and  it  was  a  splen- 
did night  for  a  sail.  Flora  was  happy  and  began  to 
sing  again. 

The  wind  freshened  as  they  crossed  a  rock-fringed 
bay  where  a  famous  emigrant  ship  went  down. 
Sparkling  ripples  flecked  the  swell,  which  presently 
began  to  roll  in  short  angry  waves.  The  rigging 
hummed,  a  foaming  wake  ran  astern,  and  a  white 
ridge  stood  up  about  Red  Rose's  bows.  After  a  time, 
Marston  and  the  paid  hand  set  a  smaller  jib  and  hauled 
down  the  topsail,  and  when  they  had  finished  Bob 
stood  on  deck  looking  about.  The  sea  ahead  was 
white  and  Red  Rose  rolled  hard  when  the  rising 
combers  picked  her  up.  Astern,  the  dinghy  sheered 
about  and  lifted  half  her  length  out  of  the  water 
when  she  felt  the  strain  on  the  rope.  Once  or  twice 
she  surged  forward  on  a  wave,  as  if  she  were  going  to 
leap  on  board.  Marston  had  seen  enough  and  jumped 
into  the  cockpit. 

"  It's  freshening  up,"  he  said.  "  The  tide  will  be 
running  strong  round  Carmel  when  we  get  there  and 
the  sea  breaks  awkwardly  in  the  race.  If  you're  going 
on,  we'll  heave  down  a  reef  and  pull  the  dinghy  on 
deck." 

Wyndham  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I  don't  know  if 
I'm  going  on  or  not.  The  flood's  running  now  and 


168  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

there  are  two  nasty  races  before  we  reach  Carmel. 
Suppose  we  make  for  Forth  Gvvynedd?  I  don't  see 
much  use  in  getting  wet." 

"  The  Perth's  an  awkward  harbor  to  enter  in  the 
dark,"  Marston  remarked  thoughtfully. 

"  I  know  the  way,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Mrs.  Evans 
will  give  the  girls  a  room;  we  have  got  her  up  late  at 
night  before.  Ask  them  what  they  think?  " 

Flora  and  Mabel  agreed,  Wyndham  changed  his 
course,  and  the  dark  hills  they  were  following  got 
nearer.  By  and  by  Marston  hauled  down  the  staysail 
and  stood  on  the  deck  forward,  studying  the  for- 
bidding coast  Wyndham  steered  for. 

A  narrow  strip  of  gloom,  piercing  the  hills,  indi- 
cated a  valley,  and  at  its  end  a  dim  red  light  blinked. 
One  could  see  no  entrance.  Shadowy  rocks  dropped 
to  the  water,  and  a  line  of  foam  marked  the  course  of 
the  tide  across  a  reef.  A  white  belt  of  surf  glim- 
mered without  a  break  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs. 

Wyndham,  however,  did  not  hesitate  and  Flora 
glanced  at  him  with  quiet  confidence.  The  moonlight 
touched  his  face  and  she  liked  his  calm.  One  could 
trust  Harry  when  there  was  a  strain ;  she  was  proud 
of  his  pluck  and  steady  nerve.  Besides,  he  looked 
strangely  handsome  and  virile  as  he  controlled  the 
plunging  yacht. 

When  the  white  turmoil  on  the  reef  was  close  ahead 
she  saw  a  break  in  the  rocks.  The  gap  was  dark  and 
very  narrow ;  spouting  foam  played  about  its  mouth. 
Wyndham  signed  to  the  fisher  lad  at  the  mainsheet, 
blocks  rattled,  and  Red  Rose,  swerving,  listed  over 
until  her  lee  deck  was  in  the  foam.  Showers  of  spray 
blew  across  her,  she  was  sailing  very  fast,  and  Flora 


WYNDHAM  CHANGES  HIS  PLAN     169 

knew  she  would  soon  be  broken  on  the  rocks  if 
Wyndham  missed  the  harbor  mouth. 

They  drove  past  the  reef,  the  long  boom  lurched 
across,  and  Red  Rose  rolled  violently.  Dark  rocks 
towered  above  her  mast  and  the  sails  thrashed  and 
filled  in  the  conflicting  gusts,  but  the  water  got  smooth 
and  the  harbor  opened  up.  Presently  Marston 
jumped  to  the  foot  of  the  mast  and  the  peak  of  the 
mainsail  swung  down. 

"  Starboard !  "  he  shouted.  "  Look  out  for  the 
perch !  " 

Flora  looked  under  the  sail  and  saw  a  tall  post  with 
iron  stays  running  from  it  into  the  water.  She  won- 
dered whether  the  flapping  canvas  hid  it  from 
Wyndham,  because  he  was  slow  to  move  the  helm. 

"  Starboard  it  is,"  he  answered  after  a  moment  or 
tw<>.  leaning  hard  on  the  tiller  as  he  pushed  it  across. 

There  was  a  heavy  shock,  something  cracked  and 
broke,  and  a  thick  iron  bar  ground  against  the  yacht's 
side.  She  slowed  but  did  not  stop  and  when  she 
forged  ahead  again  Marston  leaped  forward. 

"  Bobstay's  gone  and  bowsprit's  broken  at  the 
cap !  "  he  shouted. 

"  Down  sail !  Ready  with  the  anchor,"  said 
Wyndham  quietly. 

Marston  dropped  the  anchor  under  the  bows,  run- 
ning chain  rattled,  and  Red  Rose  stopped.  They 
pulled  up  the  half-swamped  dinghy  and  when  they  had 
thrown  out  the  water  Marston  took  a  rope  to  a  pier. 
Wyndham  went  forward  and  occupied  himself  with 
the  wreck  at  the  bows  until  Marston  returned. 

"  We'll  need  a  new  bowsprit  and  she's  drawn  the 
stay-bolt  on  the  stem,"  he  said.  "  I  think  that's  all, 


170  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

but  it  will  keep  us  here  two  or  three  days.  Perhaps 
you  had  better  see  if  you  can  wake  Mrs.  Evans  before 
we  land  the  girls." 

Marston  pulled  up  the  harbor  and  returning  after 
a  time  said  Mrs.  Evans  was  getting  a  room  ready. 
Flora  and  Mabel  got  on  board  the  dinghy  and  when 
Marston  rowed  them  to  the  steps  Mabel  remarked: 
"  I  suppose  Harry  couldn't  see  the  perch?  " 

"  He  could  hear  me  shout,"  said  Marston.  "  I 
made  noise  enough.  If  he'd  shoved  his  helm  over, 
instead  of  looking  for  the  perch,  we'd  have  gone  past. 
I  don't  quite  understand  it,  because  Harry's  not  often 
slow.  However,  a  new  bowsprit  doesn't  cost  much; 
the  only  trouble  is,  we'll  have  to  stay  while  somebody 
makes  it." 

Flora  said  nothing,  although  she  was  somewhat 
puzzled.  On  the  whole,  she  imagined  Harry  had  not 
looked  for  the  perch;  the  sail  was  in  his  way.  He 
was  slow  to  move  the  helm  and  she  thought  this 
strange.  All  the  same,  it  was  not  important,  and  she 
talked  to  Mabel  about  the  Welsh  landlady  as  they  went 
to  the  inn. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PETERS   RENEWS    HIS   OFFER 

ROSE  remained  in  port  for  a  week. 
Wyndham  needed  a  stay  and  fastenings  for  the 
new  bowsprit,  and  although  the  Welsh  ship-chandler 
could  supply  him  with  galvanized  iron  articles  he  sent 
to  Southampton  for  copper.  Marston  thought  this 
curious,  but  Harry  was  fastidious  about  the  boat  and 
for  use  in  salt  water  copper  was  better  than  iron. 
The  party,  however,  was  not  bored.  Forth  Gwynedd, 
with  its  small  slate  houses  standing  between  the  clear, 
green  water  and  the  quarries  that  scarred  the  face  of 
a  hill,  was  picturesque.  The  breeze  was  light  and 
warm,  and  sunshine  sparkled  on  the  sea.  They  went 
fishing,  swam  about  a  sheltered  cove,  and  climbed  the 
rocks.  Wyndham's  mood  was  cheerful  and  Flora  was 
content.  She  thought  Harry  was  recovering  from  the 
strain ;  a  rest  was  all  he  needed  and  she  was  glad  she 
had  persuaded  him  to  make  the  cruise. 

When  the  new  bowsprit  was  fitted  they  set  off 
again  along  the  coast  and  stopped  at  another  rock- 
bound  port.  A  summer  hotel  stood  by  a  cove  out- 
side the  little  town,  and  a  day  or  two  after  their  ar- 
rival Marston  and  Wyndham  lounged  on  the  terrace 
by  the  water  at  the  end  of  the  lawn.  The  spot  was 
sheltered  by  a  tall  cliff,  and  a  thick  shrubbery  ran  be- 
tween the  grass  and  terrace.  Flora  and  Mabel  oc- 
•  r,;«ied  a  bench  in  a  nook  cut  out  of  the  thick  foliage. 

171 


172  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

The  sun  was  hot,  and  all  was  very  quiet  but  for  the 
drowsy  splash  of  water  on  the  rocks  and  the  inter- 
mittent rustle  of  leaves. 

"  I  like  this  spot,"  said  Flora.  "  I  have  enjoyed 
the  cruise.  There's  something  about  the  sea  that 
soothes  one." 

"  Do  you  need  soothing?  "  Mabel  asked. 

Flora  smiled,  a  rather  thoughtful  smile.  "  Not  in 
a  way.  I've  good  grounds  for  being  satisfied :  but  I 
had  begun  to  get  disturbed  about  Harry.  He  works 
too  hard.  No  doubt  he's  forced  to  bother  about  his 
business,  but  he  looked  thin  and  was  sometimes 
moody." 

"  He  has  done  too  much,"  Mabel  agreed.  "  Bob 
tells  me  things  are  going  remarkably  well  for  Wynd- 
hams'.  All  the  same,  I  expect  it  has  cost  Harry  some 
effort." 

"  Harry  does  not  grudge  the  effort,"  said  Flora. 
"  I  grudge  it  for  him.  It  was  mainly  for  my  sake 
he  went  abroad  and  overtaxed  his  strength  in  an  un- 
healthy climate  in  order  to  make  AYyndhams'  pros- 
perous." She  stopped  and  looked  up,  knitting  her 
brows.  "  Here  is  the  little  man  I  saw  on  board  the 
steamer!  I  wonder  what  he  wants." 

Mabel  studied  the  man  who  crossed  the  lawn.  She 
remembered  that  she  had  seen  him  at  Flora's  wedding. 
His  face  was  yellow  and  wrinkled,  and  although  he 
wore  light  summer  clothes  made  in  the  latest  English 
fashion  there  was  something  foreign  about  him.  He 
went  towards  the  shrubbery  with  quick  resolute  steps. 

"  It's  Peters,  somebody  Bob  and  Harry  met 
abroad,"  Mabel  remarked.  "  No  doubt  he's  looking 
for  them;  they're  on  the  terrace  not  far  off." 


PETERS  RENEWS  HIS  OFFER       173 

"  It's  strange,  but  I  feel  I'd  sooner  he  hadn't  come," 
said  Flora  with  a  frown. 

The  man  vanished  behind  the  shrubs  and  a  few 
moments  afterwards  Wyndham,  lighting  a  cigarette 
on  the  terrace,  dropped  the  match. 

"  Peters !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Hallo !  "  said  Marston,  who  turned  and  gave  the 
newcomer  -an  unfriendly  glance.  "  We  didn't  expect 
you." 

Peters  sat  down  on  a  bench.  "  All  the  same,  I 
have  followed  you  along  the  coast  for  a  week.  Felt 
I  needed  a  change  after  my  adventures  with  the  ex- 
ploring party,  which  I  dare  say  you  heard  about 
Business  was  slack,  and  I  had  a  dispute  with  my  em- 
ployers. I  resolved  to  give  up  my  post,  caught  a 
Royal  Mail  boat,  and  here  I  am." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  followed  us,"  said  Marston, 
coldly. 

"  Then  I  must  explain.  Some  time  since,  I  sug- 
gested your  giving  me  a  partnership.  The  plan  has 
some  extra  advantages  now." 

"  The  advantages  are  not  very  obvious,"  Marston 
rejoined. 

"  Let  me  state  them,"  said  Peters,  coolly.  "  The 
back  country  behind  the  lagoon  is  disturbed;  there  are 
indications  that  the  negroes  and  half-breeds  mean  to 
rebel  and  Ramon  Larrinaga  is  resolved  to  put  them 
down.  It's  possible  he  may  do  so,  but  I  doubt." 

"  I  don't  know  if  this  is  much  of  an  argument  for 
our  extending  our  business  in  the  neighborhood.  But 
why  do  you  doubt  Don  Ramon's  ability  to  keep  or- 
der?" 

"  It's  an  argument  for  your  putting  a  man  who 


174  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

knows  the  country  in  control.  If  a  rebellion  breaks 
out,  there  will  be  opportunities  for  business  such  as 
one  seldom  gets;  that  is,  if  the  situation's  cleverly 
handled.  But  we'll  let  this  go  in  the  meantime.  Lar- 
rinaga  has  a  cunning  antagonist  who  is  much  stronger 
than  he  thinks." 

"You  mean  the  Bat?" 

Peters  nodded.  "  I  expect  you  have  heard  about 
the  black  Napoleon  who  founded  a  negro  state  in  the 
Antilles?  Well,  it's  not  impossible  the  Bat  will  make 
himself  as  powerful  as  the  other." 

"  Ridiculous ! "  said  Marston.  "  Such  things 
can't  be  done  again;  the  times  have  changed." 

"  I  wonder  whether  Wyndham  thinks  it  ridiculous. 
He's  better  informed  than  you,"  Peters  said  mean- 
ingly. 

Marston  turned  to  Wyndham,  but  he  said  nothing. 
His  face  was  set  and  he  looked  as  if  he  tried  to  brace 
himself. 

"  You  had  an  example  of  the  Bat's  power  not  long 
since,"  Peters  went  on.  "  My  exploring  companions 
were  poisoned,  but  not  before  the  tropical  diseases  man 
had  made  some  interesting  discoveries.  Although  the 
swamp-belt  is  unhealthy,  malarial  fever  is  not  so  com- 
mon as  some  people  think.  In  fact,  it  does  not  ac- 
count for  all  the  fatal  sickness." 

"  Yet  strangers  die  from  fever  and  among  the  half- 
breeds  the  mortality  is  large." 

"  That  is  so,"  Peters  agreed.  "  All  the  same,  my 
notion  is,  it's  better  to  study  Obeah  than  medicine, 
and,  if  you  want  to  enjoy  good  health,  cultivate  the 
friendship  of  the  Bat.  He  knows  how  to  get  rid  of 
people  he  disapproves." 


PETERS  RENEWS  HIS  OFFER       175 

"  The  brute  ought  to  be  shot !  However,  I  don't 
see  what  this  has  got  to  do  with  our  giving  you  a 
share  in  our  business." 

"  I  think  your  partner  sees,"  said  Peters,  meaningly, 
and  Wyndham  advanced  a  few  steps  with  his  fist 
clenched.  His  eyes  shone  and  the  veins  on  his  fore- 
head swelled;  but  when  Marston  thought  he  would 
seize  the  other  he  stopped  a  yard  or  two  off. 

"  How  much  do  you  know  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  hoarse 
voice. 

"  Nearly  all,  I  think."  Peters  replied,  and  turned  to 
Marston.  "  The  Bat  is  clever  and  knows  how  to  use 
the  natural  products  of  the  swamps.  In  fact,  I 
imagine  some  of  his  discoveries  would  surprise  our 
doctors.  He  cannot,  however,  make  all  he  needs,  and 
somebody  has  supplied  him  with  arms  and  cartridges, 
besides  chemicals  and  drugs  in  use  in  civilized  coun- 
tries. It's  sometimes  an  advantage  to  cure  your 
friends  as  well  as  destroy  your  antagonists,  and  the 
power  of  an  up-to-date  Obeah  man  is  not  altogether 
founded  on  magic." 

"Who  has  supplied  him?"  Marston  asked,  with 
strange  and  horrible  misgivings. 

Peters  smiled.  "  You  were  very  dull  for  some  time, 
but  I  think  you  begin  to  see.  Well,  I  suppose  you  can 
comfort  yourself  with  the  reflection  that  when  you 
shared  the  profit  you  didn't  know  how  it  was  earned." 

Marston  turned  and  struggled  for  control  when 
he  saw  Wyndham's  face.  The  sweat  stood  on  the 
latter's  forehead  and  he  shrank  from  his  comrade's 
glance. 

"Is  this  true,  Harry?"  Marston  asked.  "Have 
we  been  backing  that  devilish  mulatto?" 


176  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  You  know  now,"  said  Wyndham,  with  forced 
quietness.  "  It  looks  as  if  you  had  got  a  nasty  knock. 
I'd  hoped  you  would  not  find  out." 

Marston  tried  to  pull  himself  together.  He  must 
be  calm,  but  calm  was  hard.  Peters  gave  him  a 
mocking  smile. 

"  There's  something  yet.  The  Bat  is  not  a  mu- 
latto." 

"  Not  a  mulatto?  "  said  Marston  dully.  "  What  is 
he  then?" 

"  A  white  man.  If  you're  not  satisfied,  ask  your 
partner.  He  knows  him  best." 

"Who  is  the  Bat,  Harry?" 

"  Rupert  Wyndham,"  Wyndham  answered  and 
turned  his  head. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Marston  said  nothing,  and 
then  his  lethargy  vanished.  Horror  gave  way  to  fury 
and  he  clenched  his  hand  as  he  turned  to  Peters. 

"  You  have  shot  your  bolt  and  missed,"  he  said. 
"  You're  a  cunning  brute,  but  all  the  same  a  fool. 
Now  get  off,  or  I'll  throw  you  over  the  wall." 

Peters  hesitated.  His  surprise  was  plain,  and 
Wyndham's  tense  face  softened  to  a  grim  smile.  Pe- 
ters had  not  reckoned  on  Bob.  The  latter  advanced 
upon  him  threateningly. 

"Did  you  think  you  could  blackmail  us?"  he  re- 
sumed with  a  hoarse  laugh.  "  That  we'd  take  you 
for  a  partner  in  order  to  keep  you  silent  while  we 
got  rich?  The  thing's  ridiculous!  Now  you  begin  to 
understand  this,  aren't  you  going?" 

Peters  said  nothing  and  went.  His  mistake  was 
obvious;  he  might  have  forced  Wyndham  to  accept 
his  terms,  but  he  had  misjudged  Marston.  When  he 


PETERS  RENEWS  HIS  OFFER       177 

had  gone,  Marston  sat  down,  rather  limply,  and  there 
was  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

u  Well?  "  said  Wyndham  at  length. 

Marston  looked  up.  "  I  have  got  a  knock,  but 
the  thing's  done  and  there's  no  use  in  calling  myself 
a  careless  fool.  For  all  that,  I  ought  to  have  seen 
what  was  going  on;  I'm  a  partner  in  the  house." 

"  And  if  you  had  seen?  "  Wyndham  asked. 

"  I'd  have  stopped  the  business  and  brought  you 
away." 

"  It's  possible.  You're  a  resolute  fellow,  Bob. 
But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  now  ?  " 

"  Put  things  straight ;  as  far  as  money  can  put  them 
straight,"  said  Marston,  quietly.  "  The  cost  doesn't 
matter.  It's  lucky  I  am  rich." 

'  Then  you  don't  mean  to  break  the  partnership  and 
give  me  up  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Marston  in  a  surprised  voice. 
"  We  are  partners  for  good  and  bad,  and  Mabel  is 
Flora's  friend.  When  we  started  for  Africa,  she  told 
me  my  job  was  to  stand  by  you." 

Wyndham  laughed,  a  bitter  laugh.  "  It  looks  as 
if  I  didn't  cheat  Mabel  when  I  cheated  all  the  rest. 
But  you  had  better  let  me  go  before  your  staunchness 
costs  you  too  much." 

"  I'm  going  to  stick  to  you,"  Marston  declared. 
"  I  undertook  the  job ;  there's  no  more  to  be  said." 
He  paused  and  resumed  quietly :  "  How  did  you  get 
into  Rupert  Wyndham's  power?  " 

Wyndham's  grimness  vanished.  He  looked  em- 
barrassed and  moved.  "  You're  a  very  good  sort, 
Bob.  I  don't  know  if  I  did  get  into  his  power;  any- 
how, not  at  first.  I  rather  think  ambition  carried  me 


178  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

a\vay.  You  have  not  known  poverty;  I  doubt  if 
you'll  understand." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Marston,  and  Wyndham  went  on : 

"  The  house  was  bankrupt  when  I  got  control,  and 
I  was  in  love  with  Flora.  Perhaps  you  think  it  was 
dishonorable  to  tell  her  so.  Well,  I  haven't  your 
scruples  and  we  Wyndhams  like  a  risk.  The  worst 
was.  I  let  her  run  a  risk  she  didn't  know.  We  met 
the  Bat  at  the  lagoon  and  he  showed  me  how  I  could 
get  rich.  He  knew  me ;  I  didn't  know  him  at  the  be- 
ginning. Can't  you  see  the  situation?  I'd  won  the 
girl  I  loved,  but  I  must  support  my  wife.  I  couldn't 
force  her  to  bear  hardship  because  she  loved  me,  and, 
for  her  sake,  I  must  satisfy  her  friends.  Well,  I  saw 
and  seized  my  chance,  and  almost  before  I  knew  I'd 
gone  so  far  I  could  not  draw  back." 

"Did  you  want  to  draw  back?"  Marston  asked. 

Wyndham  gave  him  a  curious  smile.  "  You're 
cleverer  than  people  think.  Bob.  Sometimes  I  was 
sorry  I  had  begun,  but  I  imagine  I  would  not  have 
stopped  if  I  could.  I  meant  to  get  rich;  to  give  Flora 
a  high  place,  and  —  though  the  statement  looks 
ironical  —  to  justify  myself.  Well,  I  went  on  until 
bad  luck  sent  Peters  to  pull  me  up." 

Marston  pondered  for  a  moment  or  two.  "  Now 
I  understand  why  the  witches  in  Macbeth  made  me 
think  about  the  Bat;  they  tempted  him  with  lying 
promises.  But  I'm  not  much  of  a  philosopher  and 
we  have  the  Bat  to  reckon  on.  Peters  doesn't  count." 

"  Doesn't  he  count  ?  "  Wyndham  asked. 

"  Xot  at  all,"  said  Marston.  "  When  he  told  me  his 
secret,  he  lost  the  power  to  bully  you.  The  fellow's 
a  fool;  he  thought  me  greedy." 


PETERS  RENEWS  HIS  OFFER       179 

"  But  he  can  tell  others,  Larrinaga,  for  example." 

"  That's  not  important,"  said  Marston  quietly. 
"  We  don't  want  to  earn  more  money  by  helping  the 
Bat.  We're  going  to  put  things  straight,  and  if  Lar- 
rinaga's  government  has  a  just  claim  on  us,  we  must 
pay." 

"  After  all,  the  Bat's  my  uncle,"  Wyndham  re- 
marked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Marston.  "  It  complicates  things. 
We  must  go  out  again  and  get  him  away." 

"  Get  him  away  ?  The  man  is  powerful.  I  doubt 
if  the  government  can  put  him  down." 

"  For  all  that  we're  going  to  try." 

"You're  an  obstinate  fellow,  Bob.  We'll  talk 
about  it  again.  There  is  somebody  else  Peters  might 
tell." 

"Flora?  He'll  be  too  late.  You  must  tell  her 
now." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Wyndham's  mouth  set  firm 
and  the  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead.  Then  he  said 
quietly,  "It  will  be  a  hard  job,  desperately  hard;  all 
the  same,  I  suppose  it  can't  be  put  off.  Rupert  Wynd- 
ham and  the  powers  he  stands  for  have  cheated  me, 
but  I  must  pay." 

Marston  made  a  sign  of  agreement.  "  When  you 
have  paid,  you're  free,  and  can  begin  again." 

Then  he  turned  and  saw  Flora  in  the  narrow  path 
between  the  bushes.  Her  face  was  white,  but  her 
eyes  were  gentle  when  she  looked  at  him.  "  Thank 
you,  Bob!  We  owe  you  much,"  she  said. 

Marston  pulled  himself  together  and  gave  her  a 
friendly  smile.  Then  he  touched  Wyndham's  arm, 
as  if  to  encourage  him,  and  left  them  alone. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WYNDHAM    PLEADS    GUILTY 

WHEN  Marston  had  gone  Flora  sat  down  on 
the    bench.     She    was    pale    and    trembled. 
Wyndham,  looking  very  grim,  leaned  against  the  wall. 
They  were  quiet  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  he 
asked : 

"  How  much  did  you  hear?  " 

"  I  heard  enough,"  said  Flora,  with  an  effort  for 
calm.  "  I  don't  understand  it  all,  but  I  must  under- 
stand. I  heard  Bob's  voice,  sharp  and  angry,  and 
came  to  see  if  you  were  quarreling  with  the  strange 
little  man.  Then  I  stopped  where  the  shrubs  are 
thick.  Perhaps  I  oughtn't " 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  Bob 
urged  that  you  must  be  told  and  I  think  I  meant  to  tell 
you  anyhow.  When  one  is  found  out,  it's  better  to 
plead  guilty.  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

Flora  turned  her  head.  His  stern  coldness  hurt. 
She  thought  he  feared  her  judgment  would  be  merci- 
less. Harry  did  not  know  her  yet. 

"Well?"  he  said  again. 

"  I  must  know  all.  You  helped  the  man  they  call 
the  Bat  ?  You  sent  him  goods  he  needed ;  drugs 
among  other  things,  although  you  knew  he  would  use 
some  to  poison  people  and  make  the  superstitious  ne- 
groes think  him  a  magician?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Wyndham.  "  At  least,  I  gave  him 
drugs.  I  don't  altogether  know  how  he  used  the 
stuff." 

180 


WYNDHAM  PLEADS  GUILTY       181 

"  He  poisoned  the  explorers  who  went  into  the 
bush." 

"  It's  possible,"  said  Wyndham.  "  I  think  that's 
all." 

"  Still  you  knew  he  was  cunning  and  cruel.  You 
knew  he  killed  people  who  wouldn't  obey  him  and  he 
used  magic." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  Voodoo  and  can't  state 
if  it's  magic  or  tricks.  However,  I  imagine  the  Bat 
did  use  it  against  people  who  disputed  his  rule." 

"  He  gave  you  valuable  goods ;  you  were  getting 
rich,"  Flora  resumed.  Then  she  paused  and  added 
in  a  gentler  voice :  "  He  gave  you  pearls ;  but  you  sent 
me  none,  although  Bob  brought  some  for  Mabel.  You 
said  they  were  unlucky." 

"  It  looks  as  if  I  was  a  romantic  sentimentalist. 
Anyhow,  I  didn't  want  you  to  wear  pearls  I  got  from 
the  Bat." 

"  Yet  you  were  willing  to  trade  with  him !  You 
gave  him  your  support!  " 

"  I  did/'  said  Wyndham  grimly.  "  For  a  tempting 
price.  Now  my  luck  has  turned  and  I  won't  get  the 
price.  My  reward  has  vanished  when  it  was  in  my 
hands.  Nothing  is  left." 

Flora  pondered.  In  a  sense,  she  thought  he  exag- 
gerated, because  much  was  left.  All  the  same,  she 
was  glad  he  had  been  cheated  and  the  reward  for  his 
wrongdoing  had  gone.  He  might  have  wanted  to 
keep  it,  and  her  refusal  to  share  it  might  have 
separated  them.  Still  she  would  not  think  about  this 
yet.  She  must  break  down  his  stern  calm  and  much 
depended  on  the  line  she  took. 

"  You  misjudged  me  and  perhaps  that  accounted 


182  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

for  your  giving  way,"  she  said.  "  You  thought  I 
hadn't  pluck  enough  to  marry  you  when  you  were 
poor?  My  dear,  I  loved  you  and  knew  you  were  not 
rich !  " 

"  You  hadn't  known  poverty.  There  was  another 
thing;  your  father  made  stipulations  and  of  course 
he  was  justified.  I  was  forced  to  satisfy  him  and 
your  friends.  Would  you  have  liked  them  to  pity 
you  for  a  romantic  fool  whom  a  common  adventurer 
had  carried  away  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Flora,  "  you  didn't  know  my  friends 
much  better  than  you  know  me!  Mabel's  my  friend 
and  she  let  her  lover  go  away.  I  think  it  hurt  Bob 
when  he  found  out  what  you  had  done;  but  has  he 
turned  from  you  ?  " 

Wyndham  said  nothing  and  she  resumed :  "  How- 
ever, all  this  is  not  important  now.  You  can't  go 
on.  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  It  looks  as  if  Bob  had  made  some  plans  for  me. 
I  don't  know  yet  if  I'll  consent.  My  plan  is  simpler 
and  would  save  him  trouble  and  risk.  It  depends  on 
you  if  I  carry  it  out." 

Flora  gave  him  a  quick  glance,  for  his  manner  was 
baffling.  He  looked  stern  and  his  mouth  was  set. 

"  How  does  it  depend  on  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  cheated  you  and  your  father  and  you  have  found 
me  out.  You  know  how  deep  in  the  mud  I've  gone 
and  it  wouldn't  be  strange  if  you  thought  I  might  go 
deeper.  I  expect  you  have  lost  all  trust  in  me.  Well, 
if  the  shock's  too  great,  you  must  give  me  up.  I'll 
drop  out,  vanish  like  my  uncle,  and  trouble  you  no 
more." 


WYNDHAM  PLEADS  GUILTY       183 

Flora  laughed,  a  hoarse,  emotional  laugh  that  shook 
her  and  brought  the  blood  to  her  skin. 

"  You  thought  I  would  give  you  up?  You  have 
been  afraid  of  this  since  you  saw  Peters  at  the  church 
and  you  dropped  the  ring?  Oh,  but  you  are  very 
dull!  I  love  you  and  it  was  for  my  sake  you  did 
wrong.  Well,  I  am  not  afraid  to  share  the  punish- 
ment. If  I  could  save  you,  I'd  bear  it  all.  The  thing 
that  hurts  is,  you  doubted  if  I  was  brave  enough." 

"I  knew  your  pluck;  you  gave  me  proof  when 
you  married  me.  For  all  that,  I  knew  your  hatred 
of  shabbiness  and  wrong.  I'm  an  unsuccessful  crim- 
inal." 

"  All  the  same  you  are  my  husband,"  said  Flora 
quietly. 

Wyndham  looked  hard  at  her  and  hesitated. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  urge  this  claim. 
It  would  hurt  less  to  leave  you  than  try  to  keep  you  if 
you  shrank." 

"  Then  you  doubt  me  yet?  " 

"  No.  I'm  ashamed  and  humbled.  I  don't  know 
what  I  ought  to  do,  or  what  I  ought  to  say." 

"  There  is  not  much  to  be  said,  but  it  is  difficult. 
Come  here,  Harry,  and  give  me  your  hand.  One 
hates  to  talk  like  a  moralizing  prig  and  it  does  no 
good ;  but  you  have  gone  down  hill  for  me  and  I  want 
to  help  you  back." 

Wyndham  came  to  the  bench  and  she  took  his 
hand  in  hers.  "  I  am  your  wife  and  will  not  let  you 
go,"  she  went  on.  "  Still  you  must  give  up  the 
money  you  have  earned  and  put  straight  the  harm  you 
have  done.  It  doesn't  matter  if  this  makes  us  poor. 


184  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

I  can  go  without  much  you  have  given  me.     I'd  be 
glad  to  go  without!" 

"  Ah,"  he  said  with  strong  emotion,  "  I  didn't  know 
you,  Flora !  Although  you  hate  my  offense,  you  mean 
to  stick  to  me?  " 

"  My  dear !  I  expect  the  temptation  was  very 
strong  and  at  the  beginning  you  did  not  know  all  you 
did.  It  was  rather  horrible  to  help  a  renegade  out- 
cast to  plot  against  civilized  rule  and  try  to  put  in  its 
place  superstitious  cruelty.  But  that's  done  with. 
We  must  think  how  we  can  make  good." 

"  I  can't  make  good  at  my  cost.  You  and  Bob 
must  pay,  and  I  cheated  Bob." 

"  Bob  will  bear  you  no  grudge  and  I  want  to  help." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Wyndham,  with  forced  quiet- 
ness. "  You  have  given  me  a  chance  I  don't  deserve 
to  get  straight  again,  and  I'd  be  a  meaner  brute  than 
I  am  if  I  let  it  go."  He  got  up  and  his  face  was  very 
resolute.  "  Now  I'll  look  for  Bob." 

He  went  off  and  Flora,  although  badly  shaken,  was 
satisfied.  She  had  saved  her  husband  from  the  Bat 
and  from  himself.  He  had  not  protested  much;  on 
the  whole  he  had  been  reserved  and  cold,  but  she  knew 
he  was  moved  and  one  could  trust  him  when  he  looked 
like  that.  She  began  to  feel  comforted  and  get  back 
her  calm.  The  soft  splash  of  languid  waves  on  the 
rocks  beyond  the  terrace  was  soothing.  Except  for 
this,  all  was  very  quiet  and  the  quietness  steadied  her. 

By-and-by  she  heard  a  step,  and  looking  up,  saw 
Peters  had  come  back.  He  smiled,  but  his  smile  was 
cruel  and  she  shrank  from  him  with  a  quick  half- 
conscious  movement.  Peters  took  off  his  hat. 

"Mrs.  Wyndham,  I  believe?"  he  said. 


WYNDHAM  PLEADS  GUILTY       185 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Wyndham,"  Flora  replied.  "  What  do 
you  want?  " 

"A  few  minutes'  talk.  I  imagine  you  will  be  in- 
terested." 

Flora  hated  him.  He  knew  Harry's  offense  and 
meant  to  use  his  power ;  perhaps  to  demand  money  and 
perhaps  for  revenge.  He  had  power,  but  since  she 
and  Bob  knew  Harry's  guilt,  not  as  much  as  he 
thought.  She  wanted  to  make  him  feel  the  scorn  and 
loathing  he  excited.  All  the  same,  she  might  find 
out  something  useful  if  she  led  him  on.  He  was  an 
unscrupulous  antagonist  and  she  meant  to  fight  for 
her  husband.  She  made  a  vague  sign  of  agreement 
and  Peters  sat  down  on  some  steps  in  the  terrace  wall. 

"  Your  father  holds  an  important  post  and  your 
friends  are  well-known  people,"  he  began.  "  I  expect 
you  value  their  rather  exclusive  society." 

"  What  has  this  to  do  with  you?  "  Flora  asked. 

Peters  made  a  deprecating  gesture.  "  Wyndhams' 
has  now  some  standing  on  the  exchange:  the  house's 
credit  is  pretty  good,  and  people  are  beginning  to 
think  your  husband  a  clever  business  man.  Wyndham 
is  clever,  but  for  a  man  to  build  up  a  business  he  must 
be  known  for  something  else.  If  he  wants  to  com- 
mand people's  trust,  he  must  keep  certain  rules." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  so,"  Flora  agreed  with  forced 
carelessness. 

"Very  well,"  said  Peters.  "I'm  afraid  Wynd- 
hams' new  prosperity  rests  on  an  unsafe  foundation. 
A  statement  about  their  trade  on  the  Caribbean  would 
shake  it  badly;  in  fact,  I  doubt  if  the  house  would 
stand  the  shock.  A  merchant  must  enjoy  his  cus- 
tomers' confidence  and  confidence  is  soon  destroyed." 


186  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  You  imply  you  could  destroy  the  confidence  people 
have  in  Wyndhams'  ?  " 

"  It  is  possible.  For  all  that,  I  hesitate  —  You  see, 
you,  and  to  some  extent  Commodore  Chisholm,  would 
be  involved  in  your  husband's  fall.  But  I  needn't 
labor  this.  You  know  how  prosperous  conventional 
people  treat  friends  who  lose  their  place." 

Flora  struggled  for  calm,  but  her  eyes  flashed  and 
the  blood  came  to  her  skin. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  forgetting  the  part  she  meant  to 
play,  "you  want  a  bribe?  Money  to  be  silent?  You 
could  not  rob  my  husband,  so  you  came  to  me !  You 
think  I  am  weaker  and  you  can  work  on  my  fears?  " 

"  It  looks  as  if  he  had  told  you  something,"  Peters 
remarked  coolly.  "  I  do  not  think  he  has  told  you 
all." 

There  was  a  step  on  the  path  behind  them  and  as 
Flora  turned  Marston  advanced.  His  face  was  red 
and  very  grim.  Bob  was  generally  calm,  but  he  was 
savage  now. 

"  Suppose  you  leave  the  thing  to  me  ?  I  saw  the 
fellow  coming  here."  he  said  to  Flora,  and  stopped  in 
front  of  Peters.  "You  haven't  gone  yet?  I  had 
some  trouble  to  get  rid  of  you  before,  and  don't  mean 
to  be  bothered  by  you  again.  This  is  the  last  annoy- 
ance you  will  give  us." 

Moving  forward  deliberately,  he  seized  the  other 
and  swung  him  off  his  feet.  Peters  was  short  and 
light,  for  fever  had  worn  him  thin:  Marston  was  big 
and  powerful.  He  got  a  good  hold  where  the  other's 
clothes  were  slack,  and  lifting  him  with  a  strong  effort, 
went  up  the  steps.  Peters  kicked  and  strugg-led. 
Marston  gasped  and  when  his  hat  fell  off  Flora 


WYNDHAM  PLEADS  GUILTY       187 

laughed.  She  was  moved  by  a  reaction  after  the 
strain.  When  Marston  reached  the  top  step  he  held 
Peters  over  the  edge  of  the  wall. 

'  The  tide's  low,"  he  said  hoarsely,  with  obvious 
disappointment.  "  I  was  going  to  throw  you  into  the 
water." 

"If  you  drop  me,  somebody  would  find  me  on  the 
rocks,"  Peters  replied  in  a  breathless  voice,  and  Flora 
tried  to  stop  her  wild  laughter.  Her  control  was  van- 
ishing and  the  scene  was  ludicrous.  Peters  had  looked 
grotesque  while  he  wriggled  in  Bob's  grasp  and  now 
his  coolness  supplied  a  last  touch  of  grim  humor. 

"  I  don't  know  if  it's  worth  while  to  go  to  jail  for 
you  and  perhaps  it's  not,"  Marston  gasped.  He  put 
Peters  down  and  shook  him  savagely.  "  For  a  black- 
mailer, you're  a  poor  sort  of  fool.  Can't  you  see  yet 
how  you've  muddled  things?  You  can't  tell  Mrs. 
Wyndham  more  than  she  knows,  and  I  won't  pay  you 
to  tell  nobody  else.  You'll  get  no  bribe  for  letting 
Wyndhams'  carry  on  the  lagoon  trade,  because  the 
trade  has  stopped  for  good.  It  ought  to  be  obvious 
that  your  hold  on  us  has  gone  and  now  you're  going 
too."' 

He  paused  and  seizing  Peter's  shoulders  turned  him 
round  and  half  pushed  and  half  threw  him  across  the 
terrace.  Peters  fell  into  a  clump  of  shrubs,  and  get- 
ting up,  stole  away  in  silence.  Then  Marston  turned 
to  Flora. 

"  Sorry !  I  expect  you  don't  approve,  but  I  felt 
I  must  let  myself  go.  When  people  make  me  think 
about  that  confounded  lagoon  I  get  savage." 

"  I  do  approve,"  said  Flora,  trying  to  be  calm. 
"  Perhaps  it  wasn't  really  humorous,  but  I  was  forced 


i88  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

to  laugh.  Did  you  meet  Harry?  He  went  to  look 
for  you." 

"  No,"  said  Marston.  "  I  want  to  see  him,  and 
after  this  little  exploit  expect  you'll  be  glad  to  get 
rid  of  me.  However,  I  think  you  have  got  rid  of 
the  other  fellow." 

He  found  Wyndham  writing  a  letter  in  the  hotel 
smoking-room,  and  sitting  down  opposite,  waited  until 
he  looked  up. 

"  I  suppose  you  told  Flora  all  about  it,"  Marston 
remarked. 

"  I  did.     Your  advice  was  good." 

"  It  was  better  than  I  thought.  If  you  had  waited, 
Peters  would  have  given  her  his  story  before  she  knew 
yours.  I  found  him  trying  to  begin  it  a  few  minutes 
since." 

"  Ah,"  said  Wyndham,  "  it  looks  as  if  I  had  run 
some  risk!  After  all,  I  don't  know."  He  paused 
and  resumed  with  emotion :  "  I  admitted  everything, 
but  she  trusts  me  yet;  I  think  she  would  have  trusted 
me  had  I  put  my  confession  off.  It's  strange,  but  I 
didn't  know  how  staunch  my  wife  is.  We'll  let  this 
go.  WTiat  did  you  do  with  Peters?" 

Marston  laughed.  "  I  came  near  to  throwing  him 
over  the  wall.  Held  him  over  the  edge  and  wanted 
to  let  him  drop;  but  the  brute  suggested  that  some- 
body would  find  him  on  the  rocks.  I  saw  the  force 
of  this,  because  the  consequences  would  have  been 
awkward  now  we  have  a  big  job  on  hand.  It's  plain 
that  you  will  need  me." 

"  I  do  need  you.  It's  lucky  I  have  such  a  partner. 
I've  got  to  make  restitution  and  can't  do  so  at  my 
proper  cost.  Yet  I've  no  claim;  I  cheated  you,  as  I 


WYNDHAM  PLEADS  GUILTY       189 

cheated  my  wife.  I'm  an  unsuccessful  rogue  and 
didn't  let  my  scruples  bother  me  until  I  was  found 
out." 

"  That's  sentimental  extravagance,"  Marston  said 
^ith  some  embarrassment.  "Anyhow,  I  am  your 
partner  and  your  responsibilities  are  mine.  I  don't 
disown  my  debts." 

"  The  debts  are  heavy.  I  ran  them  up,  without 
your  knowing." 

"  We  can  pay,"  said  Marston,  smiling.  "  It  won't 
break  us;  I'm  pretty  rich  and  mean  to  see  you  out. 
You  can  count  on  my  help  and  my  money ;  in  fact,  on 
all  I  can  give.  Now  that's  done  with.  There's  no 
more  to  be  said." 

Wyndham  gave  him  a  quick,  grateful  glance. 
"  Thanks !  You're  rash,  but  I  must  try  not  to  dis- 
appoint you.  Friendship  like  yours  is  rare." 

When  Marston  went  off,  he  sat  for  a  time,  looking 
straight  in  front.  He  felt  slack  and  strangely 
humbled,  but  was  conscious  of  a  new  resolve.  Al- 
though he  had  gone  far  down  hill,  it  was,  perhaps, 
not  too  late  to  stop.  The  climb  back  would  be  long 
and  hard;  he  could  never  reach  his  wife's  and  his 
friend's  level.  All  the  same,  he  meant  to  front  the 
ascent  They  had  borne  much  for  him,  he  must,  so 
far  as  he  was  able,  try  to  repay  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

UP    HILL 

THE  smoking-room  of  the  Marine  Hotel  at 
Carmeltown  was  crowded  with  yachtsmen  on 
the  evening  after  the  channel  regatta.  Marston  and 
Wyndham  occupied  a  small  table,  the  former  trying  to 
read  a  newspaper  while  the  latter  looked  about.  The 
big  room  echoed  with  voices,  a  haze  of  tobacco  smoke 
drifted  round  the  pillars,  and  now  and  then  a  peal 
of  laughter  marked  the  end  of  an  Irish  yachtsman's 
tale.  For  all  that,  Wyndham's  face  was  rather  grim, 
and  Marston,  looking  up  by-and-by,  thought  he  was 
brooding. 

"Hallo!  Here's  Elliot,"  he  exclaimed.  "  S'pose 
he  came  across  on  the  mailboat.  I  heard  her  whistle 
not  long  since.  Thought  he  was  going  to  stop  and 
see  if  they  could  salve  Deva.  Anyhow,  I'd  like  to 
hear  about  the  collision  and  it  looks  as  if  he  was 
making  for  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wyndham.  "  I  imagine  he  wants  to 
see  me." 

Elliot  crossed  the  floor,  stopping  now  and  then 
when  somebody  spoke  to  him,  and  after  a  time  reached 
Marston's  table,  where  he  sat  down. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  get  to  you  for  some  minutes, 
but  the  Irishmen  wouldn't  let  me  pass.  The  news  of 
my  bad  luck  soon  got  across,"  he  remarked. 

190 


UP  HILL  191 

"  We  didn't  get  much  news,"  said  Marston. 
"What  about  the  boat?" 

"  She's  gone ;  cut  down  to  the  bilge  and  sunk  in  six 
fathoms.  No  chance  of  salvage  and  the  navigation 
board  is  going  to  blow  her  up." 

Marston  said  he  was  sorry  and  asked  about  the 
collision. 

"  To  begin  with,  I  want  a  drink,"  said  Elliot,  who 
called  a  waiter  and  then  resumed :  "  It  was  dark  and 
hazy,  and  we  were  creeping  up  to  the  anchorage  at 
Kingstown  with  all  sail  set.  I  was  at  the  tiller,  but 
the  wind  was  very  light  and  she  would  hardly  steer; 
the  tide  was  carrying  her  along.  Jevons,  looking  out 
under  the  boom,  said  he  saw  a  steamer's  lights,  but 
just  then  I  heard  a  North-Wall  boat  in  the  fog.  You 
know  the  noise  they  make  when  they're  steaming  fast, 
and  the  fog's  pretty  bad  when  those  boats  slow  up.  I 
knew  she  wasn't  far  off  when  I  saw  her  lights :  red, 
white,  and  green  all  together.  That  meant  we  had  to 
do  something  quick."- 

Marston  nodded.  WTien  a  steamer's  three  lights 
are  seen  she  is  heading  direct  for  the  observer. 

"  Our  flare  wasn't  handy,  and  the  first  match 
broke,"  Elliot  resumed.  "  Reckon  I  was  awkward 
and  not  very  cool.  However,  I  got  a  light  and  it  was 
a  relief  when  her  whistle  indicated  that  she  was  chang- 
ing her  course;  but  while  I  was  fumbling  with  the 
matches  I  forgot  the  other  boat.  So  did  Jevons;  he 
owned  it  afterwards.  The  North-Wall  man  went  past 
us,  like  a  train,  lights  all  over  the  passenger  decks  and 
a  four-foot  wave  rolling  off  the  bows.  She  left  us 
dazzled  and  rather  shaken,  and  then  Jevons  shouted 
that  the  other  fellow  was  close  ahead." 


192  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Elliot  stopped  and  drained  his  glass,  and  when  he 
went  on  his  voice  was  hoarse.  "  We  were  crossing 
her  bows,  close-hauled  on  the  starboard  tack.  Our 
business,  of  course,  was  to  carry  on,  but  our  lights 
were  low  and  not  very  bright,  and  as  a  rule,  it's 
prudent  to  give  a  steamer  room.  Anyhow,  I  shoved 
down  the  helm  to  bring  her  round,  and  told  Jevons  to 
get  out  the  big  oar  when  I  found  her  slow.  The  wind 
was  light  and  she  was  plunging  on  the  North-Wall 
boat's  wake.  She  came  headto,  and  then  a  roller  hit 
her  bows  and  she  fell  off.  Jevons  was  trying  to  pull 
her  round,  and  for  two  or  three  moments  I  saw  the 
steamer's  forecastle.  She  was  a  big,  clumsy,  craft, 
going  light,  and  looked  as  high  as  a  house. 

"  Then  there  was  a  crash  and  the  mast  went.  I 
saw  our  side  deck  crumble  and  the  other's  stem  cut 
through  to  the  cabin  top.  Mast  and  boom  were  over 
the  side,  and  when  the  round  of  her  bow  filled  our 
cockpit  I  knew  it  was  time  to  go.  By  good  luck,  we 
had  towed  the  dinghy  and  the  steamer  held  up  Deva 
until  we  got  on  board.  Then  as  we  cut  the  painter 
the  old  boat  broke  away,  and  the  steamer  went  on, 
over  the  top  of  her.  I  imagine  she  stopped,  because 
we  heard  her  whistle  in  the  fog,  but  we'd  had  enough 
of  her  and  pulled  for  the  beach.  We  landed  at  Kings- 
town, and  I  think  that's  all." 

Marston  sympathized  and  ordered  drinks.  Elliot 
drained  his  glass  and  turned  to  Wyndham. 

"  Well,"  he  said.  "  she  was  insured  and  I  want  an- 
other boat.  What's  your  price  for  Red  Rose?" 

"  Red  Rose  is  not  for  sale,"  Marston  interposed. 

"  Then  why  did  Forwood  tell  me  you  wanted  an 
offer?" 


UP  HILL  193 

Marston  looked  at  Wyndham,  who  nodded.  "  It's 
all  right,  Bob;  I'm  going  to  sell."  Then  he  turned 
to  Elliot  and  stated  a  sum. 

"  A  moderate  price !  "  the  other  remarked.  "  I'll 
admit  it's  less  than  I  thought.  Is  she  sound?" 

"  She  is  not,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  Port  side's 
weak  where  the  strain  of  the  rigging  comes ;  she  needs 
some  new  timbers.  The  covering  board  ought  to  be 
relaid  all  round.  Keel's  shaky  aft;  the  deadwood 
ought  to  be  lifted " 

He  indicated  the  repairs  he  thought  necessary  and 
Elliot  looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

"  Since  you  want  to  sell,  aren't  you  taking  a  rather 
unusual  line?  " 

Wyndham  smiled.  "  I  allowed  for  defects  when 
I  fixed  the  price.  The  carpenter's  job  will  be  ex- 
pensive, but  if  it's  properly  done,  the  boat  will  after- 
wards be  nearly  as  good  as  new.  I  think  you  can  rely 
on  this." 

Marston  gave  his  partner  a  puzzled  glance  and  El- 
liot said,  "  After  your  frankness,  I'll  buy  her  and  take 
my  chance." 

"  I  imagine  it's  a  safe  investment,"  Wyndham  re- 
joined. 

For  a  few  moments  Elliot  was  quiet  and  then  he 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Wyndham  and  said  in  a  thoughtful 
voice,  "  Red  Rose  is  fast  and  you  sailed  her  cleverly. 
All  the  same,  I  never  understood  how  you  beat  us 
when  you  won  the  Commodore's  cup." 

"  I  imagine  I  went  the  wrong  side  of  the  Knoll 
buoy,"  Wyndham  answered  coolly.  "  Perhaps  this 
gave  us  some  advantage,  because  the  tide  runs  longer 
near  the  coast." 


194  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Marston  moved  abruptly,  but  Wyndham  went  on: 
"  I'm  not  certain :  but  if  you  had  filed  a  protest,  I 
wouldn't  have  claimed  the  prize.  Bob  thought  he  saw 
something  in  the  haze.  It  might  have  been  a  gull, 
but  it  might  have  been  the  buoy.  Anyhow,  we  went 
on  and  the  tide  carried  us  along  the  shore." 

The  short  silence  that  followed  had  a  hint  of  strain. 
Wyndham  knew  Elliot  knew  his  winning  the  race 
had  appealed  to  Flora's  imagination.  Moreover,  he 
thought  Elliot  had  wanted  to  marry  Flora  and  would 
have  had  Chisholm's  support.  Marston  saw  they  had 
got  on  awkward  ground,  and  felt  embarrassed. 

"  After  all  you  did  beat  us  and  you  were  not  sure 
it  was  the  buoy,"  Elliot  said,  in  a  quiet,  meaning  voice. 
"  It's  too  late  to  file  a  protest  now.  Besides,  we  were 
talking  about  the  boat ' 

"  I'll  put  her  on  the  hard,  if  you'd  like  a  proper 
survey  before  you  decide." 

"No,"  said  Elliot.  "I  don't  think  it's  needful. 
Your  statement  satisfied  me.  I'll  buy  her." 

He  went  off  and  Wyndham  gave  Marston  a  smile. 
"  You  look  surprised,  Bob." 

"  Let's  have  another  drink,"  said  Marston,  who 
called  a  waiter  and  then  resumed  awkwardly :  "  Elliot 
played  up  pretty  well.  I  like  the  fellow ;  he's  a  sports- 
man, but  after  all  I  think  it  was  a  gull  we  saw.  Any- 
how, we  won't  bother  about  it  again.  Why  have  you 
sold  Red  Rose.9" 

"  It  ought  to  be  obvious.  A  yacht  costs  some- 
thing and  my  keeping  an  expensive  toy  wouldn't  be 
justified  just  now." 

"  Romantic  exaggeration !     You're  frankly  ridicu- 


UP  HILL  195 

lous,"  said  Marston  with  some  warmth.  "  Wynd- 
hams'  isn't  going  broke." 

Wyndham  picked  up  the  newspaper  and  indicated 
an  advertisement.  "  I  really  think  I'm  logical.  Per- 
haps, this  ought  to  persuade  you  I've  made  up  my 
mind." 

"  Preposterous ! "  Marston  exclaimed,  throwing 
down  the  paper.  "  Your  pretty  new  house  ?  Besides, 
it's  Flora's  house  as  well  as  yours !  " 

"  Flora  agrees,"  said  Wyndham  quietly. 

Marston  got  up  and  his  face  was  red.  "  Looks  as 
if  you  don't  mean  to  let  me  help  much.  It's  senseless 
exaggeration ;  things  aren't  as  bad  as  you  make  out. 
However,  I've  had  enough.  I'll  get  angry  if  I  stay." 

"  You  ought  to  approve ;  I  imagined  you  liked  a 
thorough  job,"  Wyndham  rejoined,  and  Marston 
frowned  as  he  crossed  the  floor. 

Men  spoke  to  him  as  he  passed  their  tables,  but 
he  did  not  stop  and  going  to  the  drawing-room  found 
Flora  alone.  When  he  came  in  she  put  down  her 
book  and  indicated  an  easy  chair. 

"  Stop  and  talk  to  me,  Bob.  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  neglected,"  she  said.  "But  what  has  happened? 
You  look  annoyed." 

"  I  am  rather  savage,"  Marston  admitted.  "  Think 
I'll  stand  until  I  get  cool.  Do  you  know  Harry  has 
sold  Red  Rose?  " 

"  I  knew  he  wanted  to  sell  her,"  Flora  said  quietly. 

"  This  is  not  all.  D'you  know  about  the  ridiculous 
advertisement  he's  put  in  the  newspaper?  " 

"Of  course!  I  don't  altogether  see  why  you  are 
surprised." 


196  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Marston  hesitated.  He  did  not  want  to  admit  he 
had  been  surprised,  and,  after  studying  Flora  thought 
he  could  not  urge  that  Wyndham's  reformation  might 
be  overdone. 

"  Anyhow,  you  can  see  why  I'm  annoyed,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  Harry's  partner  and  am  going  to  marry  your 
oldest  friend." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  this  and  it  helps  me  to  be 
frank.  You're  generous,  Bob,  but  Harry  has  done 
wrong  and  must  pay.  He  cannot  make  good  at  an- 
other's cost.'' 

"  The  trouble  is,  you  must  pay.  Your  house,  for 
example!  You  planned  it,  you  worked  out  all  the 
colors,  and  thought  where  everything  ought  to  go. 
The  house  is  beautiful,  you're  proud  of  it,  and  a 
woman's  home  means  much  to  her." 

Flora  turned  her  head  for  a  moment,  but  when  she 
looked  up  again  her  eyes  shone. 

"  I  would  sooner  be  proud  of  my  husband.  I  am 
proud  now  and  am  going  to  be  prouder.  Harry  has 
pluck  and  meeting  obstacles  spurs  him  on.  Our  part 
is  to  encourage  him,  while  he  struggles  up  hill.  I 
know  he'll  reach  the  top." 

"  With  a  wife  like  you,  he  ought  to  go  far,"  said 
Marston  quietly.  "  I'm  sorry  you  won't  let  me  help  in 
the  way  I  want,  but  s'pose  I  must  agree.  Don't  know 
if  I'm  romantic,  but  I've  felt  the  world's  a  better 
place  since  I  knew  you  and  Mabel." 

He  went  off  and  soon  afterwards  Chisholm  came 
in,  carrying  a  newspaper. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked,  indicating  an 
advertisement.  "  Tel  ford  showed  me  the  paper. 
Wanted  to  know  why  you  were  selling  the  house.  I 


UP  HILL  197 

couldn't  tell  him.  Is  Harry  getting  rich  so  fast  that 
it  isn't  big  enough  ?  " 

Flora  smiled.  "  The  story's  rather  long,  but  I 
think  you  must  be  told.  If  we  stay  here,  somebody 
may  come  in.  Let's  go  to  the  breakwater." 

She  got  her  hat  and  crossing  a  street  they  reached 
a  long  granite  wall  that  ran  out  to  sea.  The  languid 
swell  beat  against  the  massive,  dovetailed  blocks,  the 
moon  was  rising  above  the  gray  hills,  and  when  they 
had  passed  the  landing  place  there  was  nobody  about. 
By-and-by  Chisholm  indicated  a  mooring  post  and, 
when  Flora  sat  down,  leaned  against  the  granite 
parapet. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "I've  been  puzzled  recently; 
had  a  notion  something  was  wrong.  For  all  that, 
Wyndhams'  was  obviously  prosperous,  Harry's  an  in- 
dulgent husband,  and  I  wouldn't  own  I'd  grounds  for 
bothering,  until  I  saw  this  advertisement.  Well, 
sometimes  it's  rash  to  meddle,  but  I'm  anxious.  Tell 
me  all  you  can." 

Flora  told  him  and  after  she  stopped  he  was  quiet 
for  a  time.  The  moonlight  touched  his  face  and 
she  saw  the  lines  get  deeper.  The  old  Commodore 
was  deeply  moved,  but  she  was  glad  he  did  not  look 
stern. 

"  I've  got  a  knock  and  know  how  you  were  hurt. 
You  bear  it  well,"  he  said.  "  To  some  extent,  the 
fault  is  mine.  When  Harry  wanted  to  marry  you  I 
doubted  but  gave  way.  I  ought  to  have  been  firm." 

"  You  are  not  accountable,"  Flora  replied.  "  I 
wanted  you  to  approve,  but  I  meant  to  marry  Harry. 
I  loved  him,  though  I  knew  his  drawbacks.  But  this 
doesn't  matter;  I  love  him  now." 


ig8  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Chisholm  looked  at  her  with  knitted  brows  and 
she  saw  he  was  suffering  for  her  sake. 

"  You  are  very  staunch,  but  I  knew  this.  You  say 
Harry  means  to  make  reparation.  Now  he's  found 
out,  his  repentance  is  strangely  thorough." 

"  You  must  not  be  bitter,"  said  Flora  quietly. 

"  Very  well.  Let's  be  practical.  Your  husband's 
job  will  be  hard  and  long.  He  must  carry  his  load, 
but  part  will  fall  on  you.  It's  already  doing  so." 

"  That  is  just.  Much  of  the  fault  was  mine.  I 
trusted  Harry,  and  after  all  I  trust  him  better;  but  at 
the  beginning  this  was  not  enough.  I  wanted  you 
and  our  friends  to  know  him;  to  own  he  had  talent 
and  see  my  pride  in  him  was  founded  well.  In  a  way, 
it  was  a  mean  ambition.  I  wanted  him  to  get  rich. 
Not  because  I'm  greedy " 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  Chisholm  remarked. 
"  Perhaps  we  use  the  money  standard  oftener  than 
we  ought.  It's  not  high,  but  all  the  same,  to  earn 
money  demands  some  useful  qualities."  He  paused 
and  added  with  a  sigh :  "  I  am  poor  and  know." 

"  You  are  a  dear !  Your  honesty  is  worth  much 
more  money  than  you  could  have  earned.  Then 
you're  not  hard,  as  some  honest  people  are.  You  will 
not  be  hard  to  Harry  now  he  is  trying  to  make 
amends?  " 

"  Far  from  it !  What  right  have  I  to  hurt  a  broken 
man?" 

Flora  smiled.  "  Harry  is  bruised,  but  not  broken. 
Then,  you  see,  I  made  his  temptation  stronger.  When 
I  ought  to  have  held  him  back  I  half -consciously  urged 
him  on.  It  was  for  my  sake  he  broke  rules  we  try  to 


UP  HILL  199 

keep,  and  I  mustn't  grumble  if  some  of  his  punishment 
falls  on  me." 

"  After  all,  you  did  not  know  what  you  did." 

"I  ought  to  have  known;  I  am  his  wife.  But  I 
think  you  understand,  and  there's  no  more  to  be 
said." 

Chisholm  got  up.  "  A  nasty  knock,  but  we  can 
bear  it.  You  have  pluck  and  one  can't  be  beaten 
when  one  is  not  afraid." 

They  went  back  silently  and  near  the  end  of  the 
wall  met  Wyndham  going  to  the  landing  steps. 
Chisholm  stopped  and  gave  him  his  hand. 

"  Flora  has  told  me  all,"  he  said.  "  Your  friends 
will  stand  by  you." 


PART  III 
REPARATION 


CHAPTER  I 

WYNDHAM    PAYS   DUTY 

RED  reflections  trembled  on  the  sea,  a  fringe  of 
languid  surf  broke  along  the  beach,  and  as  the 
liner  turned  a  point,  a  white  town  that  rose  in  ter- 
races, glimmered  like  a  pearl.  A  yellow  flag  ran  up 
to  the  masthead,  the  throb  of  engines  slowed,  and  a 
noisy  launch  steamed  out  from  behind  the  mole. 
Marston,  leaning  on  the  rail,  watched  her  approach, 
and  his  look  was  thoughtful  when  he  turned  to  Wynd- 
ham. 

"If  Don  Ramon  got  our  telegram,  he's  probably 
on  board,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  he  is,  because  if  he 
doesn't  come  it  might  imply  he  means  to  make  things 
difficult  for  us.  He  could  if  he  liked." 

"  Larrinaga  will  come,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  From 
all  accounts,  he's  a  pretty  good  officer,  but  I  don't  ex- 
pect he  neglects  his  interests  while  he  looks  after  the 
State's.  I'm  counting  on  this." 

"  I  s'pose  one  mustn't  be  fastidious,  but  I  don't 
want  to  get  involved  in  fresh  intrigue.  The  job  we've 
undertaken  is  awkward  enough." 

"  Very  awkward,"  Wyndham  agreed,  with  some 
dryness.  "  In  a  way,  it  looks  too  big  for  us.  To 
begin  with,  we  have  got  to  pay  duties  we  dodged,  and 
satisfy  the  Government  we  cheated.  Then,  without 
exciting  the  latter's  curiosity,  we're  going  to  stop  a 

203 


204  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

rebellion  and  carry  off  its  leader.  There's  the  worst 
puzzle.  The  fellow's  cunning  and  powerful.  More- 
over, he's  my  uncle." 

He  stopped,  for  the  engines  clanked  noisily  as  the 
screw  turned  astern;  then  the  anchor  splashed  and  the 
launch  swung  in  to  the  gangway.  The  port  doctor 
came  on  board  and  after  him  a  man  in  tight-fitting 
American  clothes.  His  wide  black  belt  was  spun  from 
the  finest  silk  and  Marston  noted  his  hat.  Indians  had 
woven  the  delicate  material  under  running  water; 
presidents  and  dictators  wore  hats  like  that,  and  none 
of  the  few  produced  were  sent  to  Europe.  It  was 
obvious  that  Senor  Larrinaga  was  now  a  man  of  im- 
portance. 

"  You  sent  for  me,"  he  said,  with  a  bow. 

"  The  steamer  goes  on  in  the  morning,"  Wyndham 
replied.  "  We  hesitated  about  landing  and  calling, 
for  fear  we  might  trespass  on  your  time.  By  send- 
ing a  telegram  we  left  you  free  to  refuse.  If  you 
are  not  much  occupied,  I  hope  you'll  dine  on  board." 

Larrinaga  said  he  was  willing  and  after  a  time  they 
went  to  the  saloon.  For  the  most  part,  the  passengers 
had  landed  and  only  three  or  four  occupied  the  tables. 
By-and-by  the  others  went  out  and  Wyndham  opened 
a  fresh  bottle  of  Italian  wine.  A  steward  turned  on 
the  electric  light  and  soft  reflections  fell  on  colored 
glass  and  polished  wood.  Beads  of  damp  sparkled 
on  the  white-and-gold  ceiling,  although  the  skylights 
were  open  and  a  throbbing  fan  made  a  cool  draught 
about  the  table.  Footsteps  echoed  along  the  deck  and 
when  the  steamer  rolled  the  water  gurgled  about  her 
side,  but  it  was  quiet  in  the  saloon.  By-and-by  Lar- 
rinaga put  down  his  glass. 


WYNDHAM  PAYS  DUTY  205 

"  One  likes  to  meet  one's  friends,  but  I  do  not  know 
if  this  alone  is  why  you  sent  for  me,"  he  said.  "  If 
it  is  not,  you  see  your  servant!" 

Wyndham  bowed.  "  We  value  your  friendship  and 
particularly  your  honesty  and  tact.  There  is  a  matter 
we  thought  you  might  arrange  for  us." 

"If  it  is  possible;  but  you  must  be  moderate.  One 
is  watched  and  criticized  as  one  rises  in  rank,  and  it 
is  difficult  to  allow  one's  friends  exclusive  privileges. 
To  grant  too  many  robs  the  Government." 

11  We  want  to  make  the  Government  richer,"  Wynd- 
ham replied.  "  In  fact,  we  propose  to  give  you  a 
sum  that  ought  to  have  been  paid,  in  smaller  amounts, 
before.  You  will,  no  doubt,  be  able  to  hand  it  to  the 
proper  officer,  without  our  being  bothered  by  awk- 
ward formalities." 

Larrinaga  looked  at  him  with  puzzled  surprise. 
"  In  this  country  one  pays  when  one  is  forced,  and 
the  Government  is  generally  paid  last  of  all.  One 
seldom  gives  money  for  which  one  is  not  asked." 

"  We  do  not  mean  to  rob  your  Government  and  my 
partner  is  rich  enough  to  be  honest,"  said  Wyndham, 
smiling.  '  You  have  no  customs  officer  at  the  lagoon, 
and  we  found  on  studying  our  accounts  that  some 
duties  had  not  been  paid." 

"  Proper  copies  of  your  cargo  manifests  ought  to 
have  been  sent  the  officer  at  the  port  where  your  ves- 
sel's clearance  papers  were  stamped." 

"  I  think  the  manifests  were  sent,  but  now  and  then 
we  got  cargo  at  the  last  moment  as  we  were  going  to 
sea.  Besides,  the  officer  was  a  friend  of  ours " 

Larrinaga  filled  his  glass,  and  while  he  pondered 
Wyndham  lighted  a  cigarette.  The  matter  needed 


206  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

careful  handling.  It  was  plain  that  Larrinaga's  sur- 
prise had  gone  and  he  was  cautious. 

"  Then  you  propose  to  give  me  the  money  you  ought 
to  have  paid?"  the  latter  presently  remarked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Wyndham.  "  We  are  traders  and 
must  get  on  with  our  business,  while  the  officer  we 
knew  has  given  up  his  post.  If  we  write  to  his  suc- 
cessor, we  must  comply  with  numerous  formalities, 
and  a  stranger  would  insist  on  knowing  why  we  did 
not  pay  at  the  proper  time.  Well,  if  you  take  the 
money,  I  expect  you  can  straighten  things  out." 

Larrinaga  looked  hard  at  him,  and  Wyndham 
smiled.  He  imagined  the  fellow  was  not  honester 
than  other  government  officials  he  had  met  on  the 
Caribbean.  Larrinaga  knew  it  was  in  his  power  to 
keep  back  as  much  of  the  sum  as  he  liked  for  his 
private  use  and  would,  no  doubt,  do  so.  In  fact, 
the  fellow  would  imagine  he  was  offered  a  bribe. 
Since  one  does  not  give  bribes  for  nothing,  Wyndham 
must  hint  that  he  had  an  object,  and  the  hint  must 
be  plausible. 

"  Then  you  expect  no  particular  privileges  ? " 
Larrinaga  remarked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Wyndham.  "  All  we  want  is  to 
carry  on  our  business  without  the  small  officials  both- 
ering us.  We  are  not  smugglers,  but  we  would  not 
like  the  vessel  stopped  if  a  manifest  now  and  then 
is  not  properly  made  up.  One  must  go  in  and  out 
when  the  tide  serves,  and  sometimes  we  do  not  know 
what  goods  we  have  on  board  until  we  check  the  tallies 
when  we  get  to  sea.  If  we  find  we  have  cheated  the 
customs,  you  can  trust  us  to  put  things  straight. 


WYNDHAM  PAYS  DUTY  207 

Only,  we  would  sooner  deal  with  somebody  important ; 
yourself,  for  example." 

Larrinaga's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Very  well.  I  think 
I  can  promise  you  will  not  be  bothered  much."  He 
paused,  and  resumed  in  a  thoughtful  voice :  "  I  ex- 
pect you  know  your  trading  at  the  lagoon  just  now 
may  lead  to  trouble?  " 

"  All  trade  is  troublesome,  particularly  when  it  is 
carried  on  in  the  mangrove  swamps,"  Marston  inter- 
posed. '  The  lagoon  is  not  much  worse  than  other 
spots.  Anyhow,  the  profits  are  large  and  we  must 
earn  some  money." 

"  But  Sefior  Wyndham  stated  that  you  are  rich." 

"  Rich  people  are  sometimes  greedy,"  Marston  re- 
joined with  a  touch  of  awkwardness.  "  I  did  not 
begin  business  with  the  object  of  losing  my  capital." 

Wyndham  thought  he  would  leave  Bob  alone. 
Larrinaga  would  not  suspect  him  of  plotting  and  his 
rather  obvious  embarrassment  was  an  advantage. 
Bob  was  the  man  one  would  expect  to  be  embarrassed 
when  engaged  in  trying  to  bribe  a  government  officer 
to  sanction  his  smuggling.  For  all  that,  Wyndham 
gave  Larrinaga  a  keen  glance.  The  latter  leaned  back 
carelessly  and  rolled  a  cigarette.  His  movements 
were  firm  and  quick. 

Don  Ramon  was  clever  and  knew  much  about  the 
bush.  It  was  possible  he  knew  Wyndham  had  sup- 
plied the  Bat  with  goods  and  he  might  mean  to  let 
him  do  so  for  a  time  while  he  took  his  bribes,  hoping 
to  cheat  both  by  giving  them  a  feeling  of  false  security. 
Wyndham,  however,1  did  not  think  Don  Ramon  knew 
the  Bat  was  his  relation ;  Peters  knew,  but  he  was  not 


208  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  man  to  share  a  secret  he  had  thought  worth  much. 
Although  one  must  not  altogether  take  this  for  granted, 
Wyndham  could  not  see  another  plan. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Larrinaga  when  he  had  made 
his  cigarette.  "  I  will  take  your  money  and  see  you 
are  not  bothered."  Then  he  looked  hard  at  Wynd' 
ham.  "  I  will  give  you  a  hint :  wait  until  your  cargo 
comes  down  and  do  not  go  far  from  the  beach.  The 
bush  is  dangerous  for  strangers  just  now." 

"  We  heard  something  about  this,"  Marston  re- 
plied. "  I  don't  like  the  Mestizos,  and  if  they're  plot- 
ting trouble,  hope  you'll  put  them  down." 

"  My  partner  has  a  horror  of  the  swamps,"  Marston 
remarked  with  a  smile.  "If  he  was  not  keen  to  earn 
some  money,  he  would  not  enter  the  lagoon.  He  has 
not  joined  me  long  and  wants  his  friends  to  think 
he  has  a  talent  for  business." 

Larrinaga  shrugged  and  got  up.  "  The  English  and 
Americans  are  hard  to  understand.  If  I  were  rich, 
I  would  be  satisfied  to  lounge  about  the  plaza  and  now 
and  then  gamble  at  the  casino  with  my  friends.  I 
would  not  gamble  with  the  Mestizos  in  the  swamps. 
The  chances  are  too  much  on  the  side  of  the  banker 
there.  Well,  I  wish  you  good  luck  until  we  meet 
again." 

The  others  went  with  him  to  the  gangway  and  when 
the  launch  steamed  off  Marston  sat  down  and  looked 
about.  It  had  got  dark  but  a  half  moon  drew  a 
sparkling  track  across  the  calm  sea.  Anchor  lights 
swung  languidly  by  the  shore,  and  in  the  background 
the  white  town  shone  with  a  pale  reflection  against 
the  dusky  hills.  Music  came  off  across  the  water 
with  the  rumble  of  the  surf,  and  the  smooth  swell 


WYNDHAM  PAYS  DUTY  209 

splashed   softly  against   the  vessel's   side.     Presently 
Marston  turned  and  looked  to  the  east. 

"  One  feels  an  English  steamer's  a  bit  of  England. 
She  takes  civilization  and  decency  where  she  goes ;  but 
it  will  be  different  to-morrow  when  we  board  Co- 
lumbine. I  wish  our  job  was  finished  and  we  were 
going  the  other  way.  Anyhow,  it  must  be  finished, 
and  I  don't  know  if  I  liked  the  line  you  took.  Don 
Ramon  won't  hand  over  all  the  money." 

"  It's  possible,"  Wyndham  agreed.  "  Still  I  think 
you  urged  that  we  must  begin  by  paying  the  duties 
we  had  dodged." 

"  I  wanted  them  paid  to  the  Government,  not  to  a 
corrupt  official  who  thinks  he's  got  another  bribe. 
The  duties  belong  to  the  country." 

"  Oh,  well.  I  don't  know  a  channel  by  which  the 
country  would  get  its  dues.  All  are  leaky;  in  fact, 
they  are  meant  to  leak.  It's  significant  that  official 
salaries  are  small.  However,  I  don't  expect  Don 
Ramon  is  dishonester  than  the  rest.  Some  of  the 
money  will  go  where  it  ought." 

"  Perhaps  it's  not  important,"  Marston  said  thought- 
fully. "  All  the  same,  you  rather  let  the  fellow  think 
we  wanted  to  smuggle." 

"  Smuggling's  profitable.  It  was  prudent  to  hint 
we  had  an  object  for  haunting  the  lagoon.  On  the 
whole,  I  imagine  a  frank  statement  that  we  were  try- 
ing to  be  honest  would  not  have  satisfied  Don  Ramon ; 
one  must  make  allowances  for  the  other  fellow's  point 
of  view.  I  hope  he  is  satisfied,  but  I  doubt." 

"  He  is  not  a  fool,"  Marston  remarked.  "  I  ex- 
pect he  reckons  we  mean  to  supply  the  Bat  with 
things  he  needs  to  fight  the  Government.  If  he's 


210  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

not  altogether  corrupt,  why  does  he  let  us  go  on?" 

"  It's  not  very  plain.  Anyhow,  I  imagine  he  won't 
let  us  go  on  very  long.  In  fact,  speed's  important. 
We  must  finish  the  job  before  we  are  stopped." 

"  The  rebellion  must  be  stopped,"  Marston  agreed. 
"  In  a  way,  I  don't  care  who  rules  the  country;  I  ex- 
pect nobody  would  rule  it  well.  All  the  same.  I'm 
not  going  to  see  white  traders  murdered  and  the 
swamp-belt  given  up  to  a  cruel  brute  who  would  rule 
it  on  the  African  plan." 

"  The  Bat  can't  start  his  rebellion  without  supplies, 
which  we  don't  mean  to  give  him,"  Wyndham  said 
dryly.  "Things  would  be  easier  if  he  were  not  my 
uncle." 

Marston  hesitated.  "  This  bothers  me  most. 
D'you  think  Larrinaga  knows?  " 

"  I  think  not.  Peters  knows,  however,  and  when 
he  finds  out  where  we've  gone  I  expect  we'll  soon  have 
him  on  our  track.  This  means  we  must  reckon  on 
three  antagonists." 

"  Three?  "  said  Marston  with  a  puzzled  look. 

Wyndham  nodded.  "  I  expect  we'll  find  Rupert 
Wyndham  the  worst.  However,  I  see  one  advantage ; 
none  of  the  three  knows  our  plans  and  all  theirs  clash. 
We  are  not  up  against  a  combine." 

"  We  haven't  a  plan,"  Marston  objected. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Since  that  is  so  we 
must  trust  our  luck." 

He  went  off  and  Marston  smoked  a  cigarette  and 
mused.  He  had  wanted  to  be  open  and  honest,  but 
since  they  could  not  use  force,  he  admitted  reluctantly 
that  they  must  intrigue.  The  job  did  not  look  as 
simple  as  he  had  thought  in  England;  it  was  getting 


WYNDHAM  PAYS  DUTY  211 

obvious  that  Rupert  Wyndham  would  be  their  worst 
antagonist.  The  fellow  was,  so  to  speak,  no  longer 
a  white  man ;  he  was  a  savage  with  a  lust  for  cruelty 
and  power,  but  he  had  a  white  man's  intelligence.  To 
imagine  he  could  be  persuaded  to  give  up  his  ambitious 
plans  was  ridiculous ;  he  had  no  moral  sense  to  which 
one  could  appeal.  All  the  same,  it  was  unthinkable 
that  they  should  let  him  be  captured  by  Larrinaga 
and  shot. 

Marston  could  see  no  light  and  presently  threw 
away  his  cigarette  and  got  up.  The  job  was  awk- 
ward, but  he  must  not  own  he  was  beaten  before  he 
had  begun.  He  would  go  on  and  trust  his  luck.  In 
the  meantime,  he  had  promised  to  play  cards  with 
some  passengers  and  he  went  to  the  smoking-room. 
They  played  until  the  electric  light  went  out,  when 
Marston  found  he  had  lost  five  pounds.  It  did  not 
look  as  if  his  liid:  was  very  good. 

In  the  morning,  the  steamer  sailed  and  when  she 
stopped  again  as  dark  fell  a  boat  was  hoisted  out. 
High  land  loomed,  vague  and  blue,  against  the  sunset, 
drifting  mist  hid  the  beach,  and  not  far  off  two  masts 
and  a  dark  hull  cut  against  the  hazy  background.  As 
he  went  to  the  gangway  Marston  looked  back  with  a 
curious  feeling  of  regret.  The  steamer  stood  for  much 
that  he  liked  and  knew,  and  he  had  enjoyed  the  so- 
ciety of  her  officers.  Their  temperament  was  sane  and 
practical.  They  did  not  seek  strange  adventures; 
theirs  was  a  healthful  struggle  against  the  obvious 
dangers  of  the  sea. 

In  front,  all  was  different,  and  Marston  could  not 
see  where  his  path  led.  Mystery,  and  perhaps  horror, 
f-eepened  the  gloom  through  which  he  must  grope  his 


212  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

way,  and  his  face  was  grim  as  he  went  down  the 
ladder.  He  did  not  talk  while  the  sailors  rowed  him 
to  Columbine,  and  leaving  Wyndham  to  give  the  crew 
some  orders  he  sat  down  on  the  gratings  by  the  wheel. 

The  dew  was  falling  and  the  deck  was  damp. 
Moisture  dripped  from  the  masts  and  ropes,  and  it 
was  very  hot.  The  anchor  light  tossed  against  the 
portentous  gloom  of  the  land.  The  yacht  looked  old 
and  dirty,  though  Marston  knew  her  strength  and 
speed ;  the  half-naked  crew  made  no  noise  as  they  stole 
about.  Their  dark  skin  was  scarcely  distinguishable 
and  Marston  thought  they  rather  looked  like  ghosts 
than  men. 

In  the  meantime,  the  steamer's  boat  was  pulling 
back.  Marston  saw  her  move  across  the  dim  reflec- 
tions on  the  water,  but  the  splash  of  oars  got  faint  and 
by  and  by  she  vanished  in  the  dark.  Then  a  whistle 
shrieked  and  lights  that  twinkled  in  the  distance  began 
to  move.  The  throb  of  engines  traveled  far,  but  it 
presently  died  away  and  all  was  quiet.  Marston  was 
launched  on  his  adventure,  and  since  he  was  practical, 
he  went  below  and  studied  the  chart. 


CHAPTER  II 

MARSTON    GETS   A    WARNING 

IT  was  dark  and  the  mud  village  was  strangely 
quiet.  Thin  mist  drifted  about  the  house  Don 
Felix  had  occupied,  and  Wyndhams'  new  agent  leaned 
forward  slackly  with  his  arm  on  the  table.  He  was  a 
young  French  Creole,  but  his  face  was  pinched  and 
careworn. 

Marston,  sitting  in  a  corner,  studied  the  man. 
When  he  last  saw  Lucien  Moreau  he  was  vigorous  and 
marked  by  a  careless  confidence.  Now  his  glance  was 
furtive  and  sometimes  he  fixed  it  on  the  window. 
There  was  no  glass  and  the  shutters  had  been  left  open 
because  the  night  was  hot.  Marston  remembered  Don 
Felix's  disconcerting  habit  of  looking  at  the  window 
when  it  was  dark.  The  miasma  from  the  swamps  had 
obviously  undermined  Moreau's  health;  but  Marston 
doubted  if  this  accounted  for  all. 

Moreau  had  been  talking  for  two  or  three  minutes 
when  Wyndham  stopped  him. 

"I  understand  you  want  to  give  up  your  post?" 
he  said. 

"  That  is  so,"  the  other  agreed.  "  For  one  thing, 
you  do  not  need  an  agent  when  you  are  closing  down 
your  business."  He  paused  and  gave  \Yyndham  a 
sullen  look.  "  Besides,  I  have  had  enough." 

"  Your  pay  is  good." 

"  Good  pay  is  of  no  use  if  one  dies  before  one  can 
spend  it,"  Moreau  rejoined. 

"Very  well,"  said  \Yyndham.  "If  you  have  had 

213 


214  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

enough,  we  must  try  to  let  you  go.  However,  since 
your  engagement  runs  for  some  time,  you  must  stay 
a  month." 

Moreau  agreed  unwillingly  and  Wyndham  asked : 
"  Have  you  sent  for  the  fellow  who  gave  us  our  last 
load?" 

"  He  is  coming  to-night.  You  will  stay  until  he 
goes  ?  " 

"Of  course,"  said  Wyndham,  smiling.  "I  don't 
want  to  put  too  much  strain  on  you.  It  looks  as  if 
you  were  afraid  of  your  customers." 

"  I  am  afraid.  One  is  always  afraid  here,"  Moreau 
admitted.  "  It  has  been  worse  since  you  did  not  send 
the  goods  you  promised." 

"  We  will  send  no  more,"  said  Marston  firmly  and 
they  talked  about  something  else  until  they  heard  steps 
outside  and  a  man  came  in. 

He  was  a  big,  dark-skinned  fellow  and  carried  a 
thick  blanket  folded  across  his  shoulder.  His  feet  and 
the  most  part  of  his  thin  legs  were  bare,  his  chest 
and  arms  were  powerful,  and  he  looked  truculent.  He 
glanced  at  Marston  curiously  and  then  turned  to 
Wyndham. 

"Have  you  brought  payment  for  my  goods?"  he 
asked  in  uncouth  Castilian. 

"  We  have,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Senor  Moreau  has 
a  list  of  the  cargo  and  we  will  begin  to  unload  in  the 
morning.  Tell  him  what  we  have  brought,  Don 
Lucien." 

Moreau  did  so  and  the  other  frowned.  "  These 
things  are  of  no  use  to  me." 

"  They  are  standard  trade  goods  that  count  as 
money,"  Wyndham  replied. 


MARSTON  GETS  A  WARNING      215 

"  You  know  what  we  wanted,"  said  the  other  and 
added,  meaningly: 

"  In  this  country,  it  is  not  prudent  for  a  stranger 
to  disown  his  debts." 

"  We  are  not  cheats,"  Marston  rejoined.  "  The 
stuff  is  all  good,  but  we  are  willing  to  pay  in  money." 

Wyndham  stopped  him  and  turned  to  the  mulatto. 
"If  you  are  not  satisfied,  send  your  master.  We  do 
not  dispute  with  servants." 

Moreau  looked  alarmed,  as  if  he  thought  the  reply 
would  provoke  the  other,  but  Wyndham  gave  him  a 
peremptory  glance,  and  he  said  a  few  words  in  Cas- 
tilian.  The  mulatto  smiled,  a  rather  cruel,  knowing 
smile. 

"  One  needs  courage  to  dispute  with  the  Bat.  It 
is  not  often  people  in  his  debt  want  to  see  him." 

"  All  the  same,  we  want  to  see  him." 

"  I  doubt  if  he  will  come.  The  custom  is  to  send 
a  present  and  ask  leave  to  visit  the  Bat;  but  I  will 
take  your  message." 

"And  what  about  the  goods?"  Wyndham  asked. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  until  I  get  an  order." 

"  Then  we'll  send  them  up  the  creek  and  put  them 
in  the  store.  You  can  let  them  remain  or  take  them, 
as  you  like.  We  have  paid  our  debt." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  the  other  grimly  and  with  an 
ironical  salutation  went  off. 

Marston  felt  relieved  when  he  had  gone,  and  soon 
afterwards  he  and  Wyndham  walked  through  the  silent 
village  to  the  creek.  There  were  no  lights,  the  quiet- 
ness and  gloom  were  disturbing  and  Marston  noted 
that  the  negroes  had  not  left  the  boat.  He  thought 


216  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

they  were  glad  when  Wyndham  told  them  to  shove 
off. 

"  \Ye  have  made  our  first  move.  I  expect  you  don't 
see  the  next,"  he  said. 

"  Not  yet,"  Wyndham  agreed.  "  It  depends  on  our 
antagonist.  I  think  he'll  understand  our  challenge, 
but  it's  going  to  be  an  intricate  game." 

Marston  lighted  his  pipe  and  tried  to  think  about 
something  else.  He  hated  intrigue  and  liked  to  see 
his  path.  It  was  a  relief  when  Columbine's  lights  be- 
gan to  twinkle  in  the  mist,  and  he  went  to  the  cabin 
when  they  got  on  board.  The  little  room  was  very 
hot  and  no  air  seemed  to  pass  the  gauze  beneath  the 
skylight,  but  the  glow  of  the  brass  lamp  was  comfort- 
ing. He  owned  that  he  had  begun  to  fear  the  dark. 

Next  day  they  unloaded  cargo  and  when  they 
stopped  in  the  evening  Marston  took  his  gun  and 
went  off  in  the  dinghy.  The  tide  was  near  its  lowest 
ebb,  the  uncovered  mud  banks  gave  off  a  sickly  smell, 
and  for  a  time  Marston  pulled  languidly  down  the 
channel.  Then  he  saw  a  strip  of  firmer  bank,  where 
a  little  path  came  out.  A  creek  flowed  through  the 
wet  forest  not  far  off,  and  he  thought  he  might  find 
his  way  across;  the  ducks  fed  at  twilight  in  the  pools 
in  the  swamps.  Pulling  up  the  dinghy,  he  looked  at 
his  watch.  The  tide  had  not  turned,  there  was  a  moon, 
and  it  would  not  be  very  dark.  One  got  cramped  on 
board  the  yacht  and  he  wanted  exercise. 

The  path  was  faint  and  the  ground  wet,  but  it  bore 
his  foot.  Here  and  there  a  huge  cottonwood  towered 
'above  the  jungle,  which  was  choked  by  fallen 
branches  and  fresh  growth  that  sprang  from  the 
tangled  ruin  of  the  old.  Knotted  creepers  strangled 


MARSTON  GETS  A  WARNING      217 

slender  trees  and  pulled  each  other  down  to  the  cor- 
ruption that  covered  the  boggy  soil.  Green  things 
rotted  as  they  grew;  parasitic  plants  drained  the  sap 
from  drooping  boughs.  One  sensed  the  pitiless  sav- 
ageness  of  the  struggle  for  life,  in  which  the  beaten 
were  devoured  by  the  survivors  before  they  were  dead. 

Dark  water  that  smelt  horribly  oozed  through  the 
jungle,  the  mosquitoes  had  come  out,  and  Marston 
pulled  down  the  veil  fastened  to  his  double  felt  hat. 
The  forest  daunted  him,  there  was  something  about 
it  that  one  felt  in  a  nightmare,  but  he  was  tired  of 
loafing,  and  pushed  on.  If  he  could  reach  the  creek, 
he  might  get  a  shot.  By  and  by,  however,  the  path 
bent  back  towards  the  lagoon,  and  he  stopped  at  the 
edge  of  a  channel  that  crossed  his  path.  It  was  not 
wide,  but  looked  deep  and  the  banks  were  very  soft. 
The  creek  he  meant  to  reach  was  farther  on. 

Marston  considered.  The  channel  marked  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  which  it  followed  for  some  distance 
and  then,  turning,  ran  obliquely  to  the  lagoon.  There 
was  a  muddy  flat  on  the  other  side  where  he  thought 
ducks  might  feed,  and  he  did  not  want  to  turn  back. 
All  the  same,  he  did  not  like  the  bridge  that  spanned 
the  channel.  Somebody  had  thrown  a  small  trunk 
across  and  stayed  it,  as  a  suspension-bridge  is  stayed, 
by  creepers  partly  pulled  down  from  neighboring  trees. 
The  log  looked  rotten  and  the  rounded  top  was  wet 
with  slime.  The  water  obviously  covered  it  when  the 
tide  was  full.  Marston,  however,  was  sure  footed 
and  steadying  himself  by  the  bent  creepers,  went  cau- 
tiously across. 

When  he  reached  the  flat  the  sand  and  mud  were 
cr  ft  and  his  step  got  labored,  but  the  light  was  going, 


218  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

he  heard  ducks,  and  thought  he  might  get  near  them 
in  the  gloom.  They  flew  off,  and  he  followed  some 
curlews  that  led  him  on  for  a  time  and  then  vanished 
with  a  mournful  cry.  Marston  stopped  and  looked 
about.  He  had  gone  far  enough,  the  tide  had  turned, 
and  it  was  getting  dark.  Dark  came  quicky  at  the 
lagoon. 

Across  the  little  channel,  mangroves  rose  from 
sloppy  mud.  Their  roots  were  five  or  six  feet  high, 
and  mudfish  splashed  in  the  holes  beneath.  Crabs 
crawled  about  the  roots,  for  he  heard  their  claws 
scratch  on  the  smooth  bark.  He  knew  the  noise ;  one 
heard  it  on  board  the  schooner  when  the  tide  was  low, 
and  Marston  hated  the  hideous  mangrove-crabs  that 
swarmed  about  the  lagoon.  They  were  savage  and 
not  afraid.  If  one  sat  on  the  sand,  they  crawled  over 
one's  body  and  their  bite  was  sharp.  A  curlew's  wild 
cry  pierced  the  gloom  and  then  all  was  quiet. 

Marston  frowned.  Now  the  light  was  going,  the 
forest  looked  sinister.  Perhaps  he  was  imaginative, 
but  his  half-conscious  shrinking  had  some  grounds. 
In  the  tropics  the  woods  were  hostile  and  sheltered 
man's  enemies,  of  which  the  insect  tribes  were  perhaps 
the  worst.  They  attacked  in  hosts,  with  poisoned 
jaws.  Then  a  pale  glimmer  caught  Marston's  wan- 
dering glance.  The  tide  was  creeping  across  the  mud. 

He  went  back  and  stopped  at  the  bridge.  Dark 
had  fallen,  but  the  moon  was  above  the  jungle  and 
its  light  touched  the  channel.  The  log  ran  across  like 
a  thin  black  bar,  a  few  feet  above  the  slime.  It  looked 
frailer  than  when  he  had  come.  He  braced  himself, 
and  balancing  carefully,  went  a  yard  or  two  along  the 
trunk.  Then  he  heard  a  crack  and  seized  the  creeper 


MARSTON  GETS  A  WARNING      219 

as  the  log  dropped  under  his  feet.  He  held  fast,  al- 
though the  strain  on  his  arm  was  sharp.  There  was 
a  splash,  the  creeper  broke,  and  swinging  back  with  one 
end,  he  dropped  in  the  mud.  It  rose  to  his  knee  and 
for  a  minute  or  two  he  splashed  and  struggled  fu- 
riously. Somehow  he  got  out  and  floundered  back  to 
the  bank  he  had  left.  He  was  breathless  and  rather 
surprised  to  find  he  had  not  dropped  the  gun,  but  the 
arm  by  which  he  had  hung  was  horribly  sore. 

Then  it  dawned  on  him  that  he  was  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  channel  and  could  not  get  across. 
\Yhen  he  fell  into  the  mud  he  was  not  far  from  the 
bank,  but  he  had  gone  deep  and  it  was  unthinkable 
that  he  should  venture  farther  out.  The  half- 
liquid  mire  would  suck  him  down.  Still  the  tide  was 
rising  and  he  could  not  stop  on  the  flat.  After  a  few 
moments,  another  thing  struck  him;  when  he  crossed, 
the  bridge,  although  narrow  and  slippery,  was  firm, 
but  now  it  had  given  way  as  soon  as  it  bore  his  weight. 
The  log  had  slipped  down,  or  broken,  suddenly.  He 
wondered  whether  it  had  been  meant  to  break.  A  few 
strokes  with  the  cutlass  the  half-breeds  carried  would 
be  enough,  and  he  could  not  have  struggled  out  had 
he  dropped  where  the  mud  was  deep. 

Marston  clenched  his  fist  and  raged  with  helpless 
fury.  He  was  persuaded  somebody,  with  devilish 
cunning,  had  set  the  trap  for  him.  When  the  tide 
rose  the  dinghy  would  drift  up  the  lagoon  and  in  the 
morning  the  yacht's  crew  would  find  her  stuck  among 
the  mangrove  roots.  It  would  look  as  if  he  had  landed 
on  a  mud  bank  and  had  stopped  too  long.  Then,  with 
an  effort,  Marston  pulled  himself  together.  He  must 
search  for  a  place  where  the  bottom  was  not  so  soft. 


220  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

He  ran  across  the  flat,  heading  for  the  lagoon  and 
hoping  he  might  find  a  belt  of  firm  sand  that  would 
enable  him  to  wade  across,  but  there  was  none,  and 
by  and  by  he  came  to  the  main  channel.  It  was  wider 
and  he  saw  clumps  of  weed  and  flakes  of  foam  drift 
past.  The  tide  was  rising  and  would  presently  cover 
the  flat.  He  went  back  as  near  as  he  could  get  to  the 
jungle,  and  sitting  down  with  the  gun  across  his  knees, 
took  off  his  shoes.  He  had  sometimes  gone  wild- 
fowling  on  the  English  coast  and  knew  one  can  pull 
one's  naked  foot  out  of  mud  where  one's  boot  would 
stick.  The  gun  might  be  an  embarrassment,  but  he 
meant  to  keep  it  to  the  last,  because  the  fellow  who  had 
cut  the  bridge  might  be  lurking  about. 

Treading  very  cautiously,  Marston  tried  the  bank 
again,  but  began  to  sink  and  had  some  trouble  to  regain 
the  flat.  It  was  obvious  that  he  could  not  cross,  and 
he  doubted  if  he  would  be  much  better  off  if  he  reached 
the  mangroves  some  distance  from  the  path.  The  tide 
flowed  back  among  them,  their  trunks  were  slender, 
and  they  were  haunted  by  poisonous  insects  and  the 
horrible  crabs.  If  the  crabs  attacked  him  when  the 
tide  rose  and  he  was  forced  to  cling  to  the  trees,  he 
could  not  beat  them  off.  All  the  same,  he  could  not 
swim  to  the  schooner. 

For  a  time  he  wandered  up  and  down  the  flat.  Al- 
though he  saw  no  way  of  escape,  he  could  not  keep 
still.  In  the  end,  he  must  swim,  but  he  meant  to  wait 
until  the  tide  drove  him  off  the  flat.  There  was  not 
much  use  in  swimming  when  one  could  not  find  a  spot 
to  land.  The  rising  water  presently  forced  him  back 
to  the  small  channel,  where  he  stopped.  The  moon 
had  got  bright  and  although,  for  the  most  part,  the 


MARSTON  GETS  A  WARNING       221 

mangroves  on  the  other  side  rose  like  a  dark  wall,  the 
silver  beams  touched  their  branches  here  and  there. 
Marston  searched  them  keenly,  because  he  had  a 
strange  feeling  that  somebody  was  about.  Perhaps 
the  fellow  who  had  cut  the  bridge  had  stopped  to  watch 
him  drown. 

He  thought  he  heard  a  soft  rustle,  leaves  moved, 
and  throwing  the  gun  to  his  shoulder,  he  pulled  the 
trigger.  The  barrel  jerked,  the  sharp  report  rolled 
across  the  woods,  and  leaves  and  twigs  came  down; 
but  that  was  all,  and  Marston,  swinging  the  gun,  pulled 
the  other  trigger.  Then  as  the  echoes  died  away  he 
thought  he  heard  a  distant  shout  and  a  regular  throb- 
bing noise.  He  paused  as  he  pushed  in  fresh  car- 
tridges, and  listened  hard.  The  noise  was  like  the 
splash  of  oars  and  got  louder.  It  was  the  splash  of 
oars,  and  a  shout  came  across  the  water  again. 
Marston  fired  another  shot  and  then  waited,  trembling 
with  the  reaction.  Wyndham  was  coming  for  him 
on  board  the  gig  and  the  crew  were  pulling  hard. 
They  would  reach  him  before  the  tide  covered  the 
flat. 

When  the  sand  was  all  but  covered,  the  boat 
grounded  close  by  and  Marston  got  on  board.  Wynd- 
ham gave  him  a  nod  and  Marston  noted  that  he  was 
hot  and  breathless.  A  heavy  oar  he  had  thrown  down 
lay  in  the  sculling  notch. 

"  The  boys  went  out  to  make  fast  a  warp  and  saw 
the  dinghy  drifting  up,"  Wyndham  remarked.  "  We 
reckoned  we  had  better  start." 

"  Thanks !  "  said  Marston,  who  imagined  his  com- 
rade did  not  want  to  talk  just  then.  "  Have  you  got  a 
cigarette  ?  " 


222  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

They  shoved  off  and  when  they  reached  Columbine 
went  to  the  cabin.  Marston  mixed  a  cocktail. 

"  There's  enough  for  two,"  he  said.  "  I  expect  you 
sculled  pretty  hard." 

"  I  did,"  Wyndham  admitted.  "  The  boys  shoved 
her  along  handsomely;  looks  as  if  they  liked  you,  but 
the  tide  was  rising  fast.  Well?  What  were  you 
shooting  at?  " 

"  I  imagined  it  was  at  the  man  who  sent  the  dinghv 
adrift." 

"  Ah,"  said  Wyndham,  "  I  wondered  —  didn't 
think  you'd  carelessly  stop  too  long.  In  fact,  I  was 
pretty  anxious  until  I  heard  the  gun.  But  do  you 
reckon  somebody  did  push  off  the  dinghy?  " 

Marston  stated  his  grounds  for  believing  this,  and 
Wyndham,  after  pondering  for  a  few  moments,  looked 
hard  at  him. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  see  what  it  implies?  " 

"  I'm  in  the  way.  Somebody  meant  to  get  rid  of 
me." 

"Yes;  but  that's  not  all,"  said  Wyndham,  with  a 
dry  smile.  "  It  looks  as  if  I'm  not  thought  dangerous; 
the  man  we're  up  against  is  not  persuaded  my  reform's 
sincere.  On  the  whole,  this  may  be  an  advantage. 
To  puzzle  your  antagonist  is  good  strategy." 

He  drained  his  glass  and  lighted  his  pipe.  "  In  the 
meantime,  we'll  let  it  go.  What  about  the  new  running 
gear?  Have  we  enough  manilla  rope  for  the  peak- 
halyards?" 


CHAPTER  III 

WYNDHAM    TRIES    PERSUASION 

THE  moon  had  not  risen  and  thick  mist  drifted 
past  the  schooner  before  the  hot  land-breeze. 
Marston  was  talking  to  Wyndham  in  the  cabin,  but 
stopped  when  something  bumped  against  the  vessel's 
side. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  A  canoe,  I  think,"  said  Wyndham,  and  both 
listened. 

Marston  wanted  to  run  up  on  deck,  but  did  not. 
Since  his  adventure  on  the  flat  had  rather  shaken  his 
nerve,  he  meant  to  use  some  control.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments they  heard  nothing  and  then  the  sliding  hatch 
rattled,  as  if  somebody  pulled  it  back.  Marston 
thought  it  significant  that  none  of  the  crew  had  chal- 
lenged the  stranger.  The  hatch  opened  and  the  old 
mulatto  came  down.  He  did  not  squat  on  the  deck, 
as  he  had  done  before,  but  sat,  like  a  white  man,  on 
the  side  locker. 

"  Give  me  a  drink ;  you  know  my  taste,"  he  said,  and 
Marston  noticed  that  he  spoke  good  English. 

Wyndham  gave  him  some  old  brandy  and  he  drank 
with  leisurely  enjoyment.  Although  he  wore  ragged 
and  dirty  cotton  and  his  legs  were  bare,  it  was  obvious 
that  Rupert  Wyndham  had  now  done  with  pretense. 

223 


224  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  I'm  your  guest,"  he  said  to  Wyndham.  "  Perhaps 
it's  not  good  manners,  but  I'd  sooner  Mr.  Marston  left 
us  alone." 

"Bob's  my  partner;  I  think  we'll  let  him  stay," 
Wyndham  replied.  "  All  that  interests  me  interests 
him." 

Rupert  shrugged.  "  It  looks  as  if  you  had  given 
him  your  confidence." 

"  He  knows  who  you  are." 

"  Oh,  well !  "  said  Rupert.     "  You  sent  for  me. 
don't  know  if  I  approve  the  form  of  the  invitation 
you  gave  my  servant." 

"Something  like  It  Majcste?"  Wyndham  sug- 
gested. 

"  Something  like  that,"  said  Rupert  with  a  touch  of 
dryness.  "  After  all,  I'm  king  de  facto  in  the  bush." 

"  Then  I  think  you  ought  to  be  content,"  Wyndham 
rejoined.  "  The  republic  is  forced  to  challenge  a  king 
de  jure." 

Rupert  looked  at  him  with  half-closed,  bloodshot 
eyes,  and  Marston  thought  his  face  was  now  like  a 
negro's.  After  all,  his  civilized  talk  and  manners  were 
a  mask ;  the  fellow  was  a  negro  underneath. 

"  We'll  talk  about  this  again,"  he  said  in  a  careless 
voice.  "  You  seem  to  have  got  scrupulous  since  you 
went  home.  Is  it  a  prudish  girl's  influence  or  your 
partner's?  " 

"  My  wife's,  for  the  most  part.  If  you  take  it  for 
granted  that  I  agree,  it  will  clear  the  ground." 

"  Ah," —  said  Rupert,  frowning,  "  it  looks  as  if  I 
were  foolish  when  I  helped  you  to  marry.  Perhaps 
I  forgot  —  it's  long  since  I  studied  things  from  the 
white  man's  point  of  view  and  women  don't  count  in 


WYNDHAM  TRIES  PERSUASION     225 

the  bush.  They  are  toys  and  don't  make  rules  for 
their  lovers." 

"  Unless  human  nature's  different  in  the  jungle,  I 
expect  some  do  so,"  Marston  remarked. 

"  Their  end  is  generally  sudden."  said  Rupert,  with 
grim  humor.  Then  he  turned  to  Wyndham.  "  I 
promised  to  make  you  rich.  Have  I  cheated  you?  " 

"No.  In  a  sense,  you  have  kept  your  promise; 
but,  for  all  that,  I  was  cheated.  My  reward  vanished 
when  I  got  it." 

Rupert  gave  him  a  mocking  smile.  "  Sometimes  it 
happens  so,  but  this  is  your  affair  and  we  will  not 
philosophize.  You  made  a  bargain  and  got  the  goods, 
for  which  you  must  pay." 

"  I'm  willing  to  pay.  We  have  brought  a  load  of 
stuff  that  has  a  standard  value  in  the  bush.  If  this 
won't  satisfy  you,  I've  paid  a  sum  to  your  account  at 
my  bank.  You  can  draw  it  when  you  like." 

"  Neither  plan  will  do.  I  don't  want  trade  rubbish 
and  money  is  not  much  use.  I  need  the  goods  I  ex- 
pected you  to  bring.  If  you  refuse  to  supply  me,  you 
miss  a  chance  you  will  not  get  again." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  to  seize  the  chance  would  be  a 
very  sound  speculation,"  Wyndham  rejoined  in  a 
thoughtful  voice. 

Marston  looked  hard  at  him.  Harry's  manner  al- 
most hinted  that  he  was  hesitating,  but  this  was  un- 
thinkable. Rupert,  however,  smiled. 

"  You  are  a  tactful  fellow !  You  want  me  to  state 
things  plainly  in  order  to  persuade  you  ?  Well.  I  will 
be  frank,  and  if  I  can  banish  your  scruples,  so  much 
the  better.  We  are  relations  and  ought  not  to  be 
enemies " 


226  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Rupert  paused  for  a  moment  or  two  and  then  went 
on :  "I  sent  you  rare  goods  —  that  sell  for  high 
prices  in  England,  but  so  far  I  have  not  sent  you  the 
best.  There  are  plants  in  the  swamps  for  which  doc- 
tors and  chemists  would  give  very  much.  A  few  of 
my  people  know  where  they  can  be  found,  but  I  am 
perhaps  the  only  man  who  knows  how  the  essences  can 
be  distilled.  After  all,  I  am  not  a  magician  for 
nothing." 

"  There  is  not  much  modern  chemists  do  not  know," 
Marston  interposed. 

"  Your  manufacturing  chemists  have  not  got  the 
plants,"  said  Rupert  dryly.  "  The  finished  product  is 
scarce  and  valuable;  I  have  the  knowledge  that  can 
bring  the  raw  material  to  the  distilling  retorts.  Well, 
if  I  use  this  knowledge,  I  make  my  charge,  and  I  have 
offered  my  nephew  a  generous  share." 

"  On  some  conditions,  to  which  I  can't  agree," 
Wyndham  rejoined.  "  Your  secret  is  worth  money, 
but  you  can  use  it  in  one  of  two  ways.  You  mean  to 
smuggle  the  stuff  into  England  in  small  quantities  at  a 
monopoly  price ;  I  think  the  other  line  would  pay  you 
better.  Ship  all  you  can,  develop  the  trade  openly, 
and  although  the  price  will  drop  and  you  may  have 
rivals,  the  sums  paid  will  be  large  and  you  will  be  first 
on  the  ground." 

Rupert  gave  him  an  ironical  smile.  "  You  are  rather 
obvious,  Harry.  You  want  me  to  come  out  of  my 
seclusion  and  engage  in  conventional  trade.  I  see 
drawbacks.  In  six  months,  English,  American,  and 
German  buyers  would  overrun  the  country,  touting 
for  business.  The  country's  mine  and  my  people  will 
not  let  white  men  get  control.  We  are  satisfied  with 


WYNDHAM  TRIES  PERSUASION     227 

the  old  rules  and  don't  want  tram-roads,  clearings,  and 
factories.  In  fact,  we  don't  mean  to  be  exploited  for 
the  advantage  of  Larrinaga's  greedy  politicians,  who'd 
sell  the  foreigners  trading  privileges  for  bribes." 

He  stopped  and  drained  his  glass,  and  there  was 
silence  for  a  minute  or  two.  Wyndham  understood 
his  uncle  and  rather  sympathized.  Independence  and 
liberty  to  follow  one's  bent  were  worth  much ;  one 
would  not  change  them  carelessly  for  the  commercial- 
ism that  gave  a  man  no  choice  but  to  work  by  rule  or 
starve.  Marston,  however,  was  puzzled  and  presently 
remarked : 

"  Clearings  would  let  in  some  light,  which  the 
country  needs." 

"  The  light  your  industrial  civilization  gives  is  dim. 
I  and  the  others  would  sooner  have  the  dark.  You 
hate  the  shadowy  world  because  you  do  not  know  it ;  I 
have  lived  in  it  long." 

"How  have  you  lived?"  Marston  asked.  "You 
are  a  white  man  and  it's  plain  you  have  unusual  gifts. 
Yet  you're  satisfied  to  skulk  about  the  swamps  in  dirt 
and  rags,  cheating  superstitious  brutes  by  conjuring 
tricks!  The  thing's  unthinkable." 

Rupert  looked  at  him  with  the  smile  Marston  hated. 
It  was  malevolent  and  mocked  his  philosophy. 

"  Some  of  the  tricks  are  clever ;  they  have  puzzled 
you.  We  will  not  argue  whether  all  are  tricks  or  not. 
Anyhow,  the  clever  impostor  is  a  common  type.  Men 
who  claim  magic  power  direct  your  company-floating 
and  manipulate  your  politics;  but  perhaps  it's  among 
primitive  people  the  fakir  has  most  influence.  In  the 
bush,  I'm  high-priest,  and  something  of  a  prophet." 

"  You  claim  to  be  king,"  said  Wyndham,  very  dryly. 


228  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  Prophecy's  not  difficult  when  you  rather  trust  to 
knowledge  your  disciples  haven't  got  than  inspiration. 
No  doubt,  you  make  lucky  shots,  but  royalty's  another 
job.  An  unacknowledged  king  must  fight  for  his 
crown.  I  want  you  to  think  if  you  hadn't  better  give 
it  up." 

Marston,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  felt  the 
crisis  had  come.  Both  were  calm,  but  he  thought 
Harry  was  highly  strung.  Their  glances  were 
strangely  keen;  they  looked  like  fencers  about  to  en- 
gage. Marston  reflected  that  Rupert  did  not  know 
Harry's  new  plans;  nor  did  he  know  Peters  meant  to 
meddle. 

"Well,"  said  Rupert,  "suppose  I  agree?  What 
have  you  to  offer?  " 

"  Much,  I  think.  Your  return  to  civilized  life  and 
the  place  where  you  properly  belong.  However,  we'll 
be  practical.  You  can  resume  the  partnership  in 
Wyndhams'  that  is  really  yours.  I'll  give  you  any 
just  share  to  which  Bob  will  consent,  and  we'll  use 
your  knowledge  as  far  as  we  can  do  so  lawfully.  Our 
business  could  be  extended  and  the  house  ought  to 
prosper  in  our  joint  control." 

Rupert  laughed.  "  You  offer  money!  In  England, 
it  would  buy  no  power  I  have  not  got,  and  the  things 
I  like  I  have.  We'll  let  this  go.  You  are  my  nephew 
and  perhaps  you  feel  you  must  be  generous ;  but  don't 
you  think  you're  rash  ?  Have  you  forgotten  the  years 
I've  lived  in  the  dark?  Habits  stick.  It  would  be 
embarrassing  if  your  relation  used  the  manners  of  a 
savage,  and  I  have  idiosyncrasies  that  would  give  fasti- 
dious people  a  nasty  jolt.  Then,  since  you  have 


WYNDHAM  TRIES  PERSUASION     229 

married,  what  about  your  wife?  Women  are  rather 
strict  about  conventional  niceties." 

"  My  wife  agrees,"  Wyndham  replied,  incautiously. 

"  To  your  plans  for  my  reform?  Then,  you  have 
some  plans.  You  are,  so  to  speak,  missionaries. 
Well,  I  imagine  Marston  is  fitter  for  the  job.  His 
confidence  can't  be  shaken,  and  he  doesn't  bother  about 
the  other  fellow's  point  of  view.  The  successful  mis- 
sionary is  a  fanatic." 

"  Give  the  thing  up,"  said  Marston,  with  some  stern- 
ness. '  You're  white,  you're  English!  Come  out  of 
the  mud!" 

Rupert  shrugged  and  turned  to  Wyndham.  "  Your 
partner's  staunch,  but  does  not  use  much  tact.  Can 
you  see  me  ordering  smart  young  clerks,  talking  at  an 
old  men's  club,  and  amusing  your  wife's  friends  in  a 
conventional  drawing-room?  If  so,  your  imagina- 
tion's vivid.  I  can't  see  myself."  He  laughed,  a  harsh 
laugh.  "  In  the  bush  I  rule  with  power  that  nobody 
challenges." 

Wyndham  made  a  sign  of  resignation,  and  Marston 
owned  defeat.  After  all,  he  had  not  expected  to  per- 
suade the  Bat.  Then  the  latter  resumed : 

"  You  refuse  to  supply  the  goods  I  need  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  do  you  stay  and  keep  your  agent  at  the 
village?" 

"  Moreau  will  not  stay  long,"  said  Wyndham,  and 
Marston,  seeing  where  Rupert's  question  led,  wondered 
how  Harry  would  account  for  their  haunting  the 
lagoon. 

"  We  came  to  trade,"  Wyndham  went  on.     "  Al- 


230  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

though  I  now  see  it  won't  pay  to  keep  an  agent,  we 
must  clear  off  our  stock  of  goods." 

"  You  can't  do  so  without  my  leave." 

"  I  doubt  this,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Anyhow,  we're 
going  to  try.  It's  obvious  you  have  some  power,  but 
a  firm  rule  generally  provokes  opposition  and  we  may 
do  some  business  with  the  dissatisfied." 

Rupert  looked  hard  at  him.  "  You  may  find  the  ex- 
periment dangerous.  On  the  whole,  my  servants  are 
staunch  and  know  the  advantage  of  keeping  out 
foreigners.  Well,  this  is  your  affair,  and  since  it's 
plain  we  can't  agree,  I  won't  stay." 

He  got  up  and  while  Marston  studied  him  with  a 
touch  of  horror  he  seemed  to  change,  as  if  he  shook  off 
the  superficial  civilization  he  had  worn.  His  lips  got 
thick  and  stuck  out;  they  looked  strangely  red  and 
sensual.  His  eyes  got  dull  and  the  colored  veins  were 
plainer,  and  he  rubbed  one  bare  foot  with  the  other's 
flexible  toes.  Marston  felt  he  had  reverted  to  the  old 
mulatto. 

"  You  go  dash  me  them  bottle  ?  "  he  said  with  a  grin. 

They  let  him  pick  up  the  bottle  of  brandy,  he  climbed 
the  ladder,  and  the  hatch  slid  back.  There  was  no 
noise  on  deck  and  they  did  not  hear  a  paddle  splash, 
but  they  knew  he  had  gone.  Marston  drained  his 
glass  and  looked  at  Wyndham,  whose  face  was  rather 
white.  He  saw  Harry  had  got  a  jar,  and  said  nothing. 

After  a  few  moments  Wyndham  broke  out:  "At 
the  last,  he  looked  a  half-breed.  A  trick  of  pushing 
out  his  lips  and  stretching  his  nostrils,  perhaps;  but  one 
feels  he  is  a  half-breed.  I  think  he  will  never  really 
be  a  white  man  again.  He  gave  no  hint  of  regret  for 


WYNDHAM  TRIES  PERSUASION     231 

all  that  he  has  lost;  it  was  rather  horrible  to  see  he 
was  content." 

"  He  is  content,  he  has  done  with  civilization,"  said 
Marston  quietly.  "  We  must  remember  this." 

Wyndham  nodded.  "  From  now,  we  have  not  to 
deal  with  Rupert  Wyndham,  but  with  the  Bat.  To 
some  extent,  it  makes  the  job  easier.  All  the  same,  we 
can't  give  him  up  to  Larrinaga.  It's  unlucky  we  could 
not  have  kept  him  on  board." 

'  That  was  impossible.  Your  asking  him  to  come 
implied  that  he  was  safe.  Besides,  we  were  forced  to 
try  persuasion  first.  Well,  we  have  tried.  What's 
the  next  plan  ?  " 

"  I  have  none.     We  must  wait." 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  satisfied  with  the  grounds  we 
gave  for  stopping?  I  mean,  do  you  imagine  he  be- 
lieves we  merely  want  to  trade?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Wyndham  moodily.  "  Per- 
haps I  made  a  lucky  shot  when  I  talked  about  our  trad- 
ing with  the  opposition.  I  imagine  it  touched  him; 
looks  as  if  there  was  an  opposition.  Then  I  don't 
suppose  he  knows  Peters  is  on  our  track  and  his. 
Well,  in  the  meantime  we  must  use  patience  and  trust 
our  luck." 

He  went  up  on  deck  and  Marston  went  to  bed.  For 
a  time  he  heard  Wyndham's  restless  tread  on  the  planks 
above  him,  and  then  he  went  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WYNDHAM    FINDS  A    CLEW 

A  FEW  days  after  Rupert's  visit  to  the  schooner, 
a  quantity  of  cargo  arrived.  The  goods  were 
not  valuable,  but  the  owners  were  satisfied  with  the 
payment  Wyndham  told  his  agent  to  offer  and  Marston 
was  surprised  they  had  got  a  load  at  all. 

"  It's  strange,"  said  Wyndham  thoughtfully  when 
they  lounged  under  the  awning  while  the  negroes  un- 
loaded the  canoes.  "  Of  course,  the  Bat  may  have 
allowed  the  stuff  to  come  down,  for  reasons  that  are 
not  very  plain.  On  the  other  hand,  it's  possible  some 
of  the  half-breeds  don't  yet  own  his  rule.  Since  this 
might  be  important,  I'd  rather  like  to  know,  but  don't 
see  much  chance  of  our  finding  out." 

Marston  noted  that  Harry  called  Rupert  the  Bat,  but 
he  agreed.  Rupert  was  no  longer  a  white  man.  All 
the  same  he  was  Harry's  relation. 

"  I  imagine  our  chance  of  finding  out  anything  useful 
here  is  very  small,"  he  rejoined. 

"  Then  suppose  we  take  the  cargo  across  for  trans- 
shipment and  see  if  we  can  pick  up  a  clew  at  the  other 
end?"  Wyndham  suggested.  "If  we  knew  some- 
thing about  Larrinaga's  plans,  it  might  help." 

Although  the  schooner  was  not  half-loaded,  Marston 
agreed.  Any  excuse  was  good  that  took  him  away 
from  the  lagoon,  and  at  noon  next  day  Columbine  went 

to  sea.     The  voyage  to  the  white  town  was  short  and 

232 


WYNDHAM  FINDS  A  CLEW        233 

on  the  evening  of  their  arrival  Marston  lounged  con- 
tentedly on  the  arcade  in  front  of  his  hotel.  A  full 
moon  shone  above  the  flat  roofs,  the  hotel  was  lighted, 
and  the  glow  from  the  windows  touched  the  pavement 
beyond  the  pillars.  Citizens,  enjoying  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  crowded  the  streets,  and  sometimes  stopped  at 
the  small  tables  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  On  the 
opposite  side -of  the  street,  the  straight-fronted  houses 
threw  a  dark  shadow.  The  band  of  the  cazadorcs 
regiment  played  on  the  plaza. 

Wyndham  was  talking  to  a  gentleman  from  whom 

his  agent  bought  goods.     Don  Luis  came  to  town  to 

gamble  at  the  casino,  and  Marston  had  met  him  before. 

'  You   must   come    and    see    my   finca,"   he    said. 

'  There  are  ducks  on  the  marsh  and  you  English  are 

fond  of  sport." 

Marston  said  he  would  be  pleased  to  go  if  they 
stopped  long  enough ;  and  then  letting  Wyndham  carry 
on  the  talk,  watched  the  passers-by.  After  a  few 
minutes,  a  big  muscular  negro  entered  the  belt  of  light, 
and  Marston  glanced  at  him  with  some  surprise. 

"  There's  Pepe !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  doubted  if  the  negro  heard  him  through  the  clink 
of  glasses  and  hum  of  talk,  but  it  looked  as  if  he  saw 
his  quick  movement,  for  he  turned  his  head  and  went 
behind  a  group  at  a  table. 

"  Somebody  like  him,"  said  Wyndham  carelessly, 
and  when  Marston  looked  back  across  the  street  the 
negro  had  vanished. 

People  moved  about  and  Marston  imagined  he  had 
retired  into  the  gloom,  where  one  could  not  distinguish 
him  from  the  others.  Pepe  was  the  pilot  at  the  lagoon, 
a  good-humored  fellow  whom  they  had  generally  given 


234  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

a  small  present  besides  his  pay.  As  a  rule,  he  did  not 
wear  much  clothes  on  board,  but  he  was  now  rather 
neatly  dressed  in  white  cotton  and  his  hat  was  good. 
On  the  Caribbean  coast,  men  spend  large  sums  on  their 
hats.  It  looked  as  if  Pepe  was  getting  rich,  but 
Marston  could  not  imagine  why  he  did  not  want  to 
be  seen.  He  was  going  to  talk  about  this  when  he 
caught  Wyndham's  eye  and  he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  My  partner  is  a  good  shot,"  Wyndham  said  to  their 
companion.  "  We  will  be  occupied  for  two  or  three 
days,  but  perhaps  after  that " 

Don  Luis  fixed  a  day  for  their  visit,  and  when  he 
went  off  Marston  turned  to  Wyndham. 

"  It  was  Pepe,"  he  declared. 

"  Yes ;  I  saw  him.  I  think  he  was  with  the  officer 
of  the  port-guard." 

"  But  what  is  he  doing  here?  And  why  did  he  step 
back  when  I  turned  to  you?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Wyndham.  "The  thing's 
interesting." 

Marstoruagreed,  but  he  could  suggest  no  explanation 
and  they  talked  about  Don  Luis.  In  the  morning, 
when  the  narrow  streets  got  hot,  they  went  to  the 
marina  where  the  sea  breeze  blew  among  the  pepper- 
trees  and  palms.  After  lounging  for  a  time  on  a 
shady  bench,  Wyndham  indicated  some  carpenters  at 
work  behind  the  mole. 

"  It's  too  early  to  meet  our  agent.  Let's  see  what 
those  fellows  are  doing,"  he  proposed. 

They  crossed  a  belt  of  shingle  and  found  the  car- 
penters mending  a  big  open  boat.  Two  or  three  other 
boats  were  drawn  up  close  by  and  planks  lay  about. 
When  Marston  stopped,  a  man  who  had  been  sitting 


WYNDHAM  FINDS  A  CLEW        235 

in  the  shade  got  up  and  turned  to  him  with  a  careless 
smile.  It  was  Pepe,  the  negro  pilot. 

"  Hallo !  "  said  Marston.  "  Have  you  given  up 
your  job?  " 

"  Not  for  long.  One  likes  a  change,"  the  other 
replied. 

In  the  meantime,  Wyndham  examined  the  boats. 
He  knew  the  type,  which  was  used  for  taking  off  cargo 
to  vessels  that  did  not  come  into  the  harbor.  For 
their  length,  they  carried  a  big  load  and  were  generally 
propelled  by  four  men  who  pulled  the  heavy  oars 
double-banked.  Their  flat  bottom  adapted  them  for 
use  in  shallow  water. 

"  Are  you  going  to  buy  the  candrays?  "  Wyndham 
asked. 

Pepe  grinned.  "  One  does  not  get  rich  by  fishing 
and  piloting.  It  is  cool  here  in  the  shade  and  I  have 
not  much  to  do." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Wyndham,  "  No  doubt  you  have 
seen  the  schooner.  I  expect  we'll  sail  in  about  a  week 
and  we  can  give  you  a  passage,  if  you  are  going  back." 

Pepe  said  he  did  not  mean  to  return  yet,  and  Marston 
and  Wyndham  went  away. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  is  doing  about  the  boats,  al- 
though I  don't  know  if  it  matters,"  Marston  remarked. 

"  He  was  rather  obviously  loafing." 

"  I'd  have  expected  to  find  him  loafing  about  a 
second-class  wine  shop." 

"  With  a  hat  like  his  and  new  yellow  boots?  "  said 
Wyndham  dryly. 

"  They  may  have  cost  him  all  he's  got.  These  fel- 
lows are  vain.  All  the  same,  there's  something  strange 
about  his  being  here  and  trying  to  pass  without  our 


236  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

seeing  him  last  night.  He's  frank  enough  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  He  may  have  been  making  the  best  of  it  because 
he  could  not  steal  off  before  we  came  up." 

"  It's  possible,  although  I  don't  see  why  he  should 
want  to  dodge  us,"  Marston  replied,  and  added 
thoughtfully:  "Since  he's  allowed  to  pilot  vessels  at 
the  lagoon,  I  expect  he's  the  Bat's  man." 

"  Looks  like  that,"  said  Wyndham.  "  I  imagine  he 
has  been  in  Africa.  Although  his  Castilian  is  not  re- 
markably bad,  the  English  he  uses  on  board  has  the 
true  West-coast  twang.  You  might  hear  the  words  at 
Kingston,  but  the  accent's  good  Sar  Leone.  How- 
ever, if  he's  a  friend  of  the  Bat's,  why  was  he  going 
about  with  one  of  the  President's  port-guard?" 

"  Perhaps  he  met  him  at  a  wine-shop ;  they're  both 
sailors,"  Marston  suggested.  "  I  thought  you  rather 
went  out  of  your  way  to  tell  him  we  would  sail  in  a 
week." 

"  An  example  of  instinctive  caution.  It's  possible 
we  may  sail  before.  In  the  meantime,  we  won't 
bother  about  the  thing." 

They  went  to  the  agent's  office,  and  after  trans- 
shipping their  cargo  set  out  one  morning  for  Don  Luis' 
•finca.  The  road  was  bad,  their  horses  were  poor,  and 
when  they  reached  the  big  whitewashed,  mud  house 
their  host  persuaded  them  to  stop  the  night.  Dinner 
was  served  at  four  o'clock  and  soon  afterwards  Don 
Luis  gave  them  fresh  horses  and  they  started  for  the 
marsh.  It  got  dark  while  they  floundered  through  the 
mud  and  reeds,  but  they  shot  some  ducks  as  the  light 
was  going  and  stayed  until  the  mosquitoes  drove  them 
off. 


WYNDHAM  FINDS  A  CLEW        237 

Going  back,  they  took  a  road  that  crossed  a  steep 
hillside.  Trees  in  dark  masses  rolled  down  the  slope 
and  thin  hot  mist  drifted  about  the  trunks.  The 
moon,  however,  was  full,  and  where  there  was  an 
opening  in  the  wet  leaves  bright  beams  pierced  the 
gloom  and  made  pools  of  silver  light  on  the  ground. 
A  cloud  of  mosquitoes  followed  them  and  Marston's 
horse  was  fresh.  He  was  not  used  to  the  big  stirrups 
and  wide  Spanish  saddle,  and  now  and  then  found  it 
hard  to  hold  the  animal.  By  and  by,  a  regular  throb- 
bing noise  came  up  the  hill  and  he  turned  to  Don  Luis. 

"  It  sounds  like  soldiers  marching,"  he  said. 

Don  Luis  pulled  up.  "  It  is  soldiers.  A  battalion 
of  cazadores  occupies  the  old  mission.  If  we  could  go 
another  way,  it  would  be  better,  but  there  is  no  road  up 
the  hill." 

The  road  was  bad  and  narrow.  There  would  not 
be  much  room  for  the  soldiers  to  pass,  and  Marston 
imagined  this  accounted  for  Don  Luis'  wanting  to 
turn  off. 

"  They  keep  the  troops  a  long  way  from  the  town," 
he  said. 

"  The  old  mission  makes  a  good  barracks,"  Don  Luis 
replied.  "  Besides,  this  is  the  President's  own 
battalion.  They  are  very  loyal  while  their  pay  is 
regular,  and  made  disturbances  in  the  town,  wrecking 
the  wine  shops  where  there  was  revolutionary  talk." 

They  rode  on  and  when  the  tramp  of  feet  got  louder, 
Marston  asked :  "  Do  the  cazadores  often  drill  in  the 
dark?" 

"  Once  they  scarcely  drilled  at  all,"  said  Don  Luis, 
laughing.  "  However,  since  Ramon  Larrinaga  be- 
came the  President's  friend  they  drill  them  much,  with 


238  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

German  officers  in  command.  Recently  the  drilling 
has  got  harder  and  one  wonders  why  this  is  and 
whether  it  means  something.  All  the  same,  I  am  a 
supporter  of  the  President's  and  if  he  is  satisfied  —  " 

The  measured  tramp  was  now  very  close,  and  the 
creak  of  leather  and  rattle  of  straps  and  slings  came 
out  of  the  gloom.  Marston  thought  he  could  hear  the 
labored  breath  of  men  toiling  up  hill.  Then  a  hoarse 
challenge  rang  out  and  his  horse  plunged  across  the 
road. 

"  Hold  him !  "  said  Wyndham  sharply,  and  two  or 
three  men  with  glittering  bayonets  came  into  the  moon- 
light that  shone  between  the  trees. 

"  A  picket,  or  advance  guard!  "  Wyndham  resumed. 
"  Get  down,  Bob.  You  mustn't  let  the  brute  go !  " 

Marston's  horse  reared  and  tried  to  turn  from  the 
shining  steel,  but  he  got  his  foot  out  of  the  awkward 
stirrup  and  swung  himself  from  the  saddle.  The 
others  dismounted  and  the  soldiers  led  them  off  the 
road  and  then  stood  on  guard. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  we  are  arrested,"  Don  Luis  re- 
marked with  a  shrug.  "  One  must  use  patience ;  but 
I  am  not  without  some  influence  and  expect  apologies 
when  the  officers  arrive." 

When  he  had  quieted  his  horse  Marston  lighted  a 
cigarette  and  leaned  against  a  tree.  For  a  few  yards 
the  moonlight  shone  upon  the  road  and  when  the  first 
fours  of  the  leading  platoon  crossed  the  illuminated 
belt  he  was  surprised.  The  cazadores  were  short, 
dark-skinned  men.  Their  sloped  rifles  wavered  at 
different  angles,  and  their  march  was  slouching,  but 
they  carried  complete  field  equipment;  pouches,  mess- 
tins,  tools  and  bandoliers.  It  was  the  first  time  he 


WYNDHAM  FINDS  A  CLEW        239 

had  seen  the  republican  soldiers  in  regular  marching 
order. 

'  Your  government  has  been  extravagant,"  he  said 
to  Don  Luis. 

Don  Luis  spread  out  his  hands.  "  It  is  these  Ger- 
mans! Somebody  will  have  to  pay  and  the  country 
is  poor.  Perhaps  it  is  well  to  pay  the  soldiers,  but  one 
need  not  spend  money  on  equipment  until  there  is  risk 
of  war." 

'  Then  there  is  no  risk  of  war  just  now  ?  "  Wynd- 
ham  interposed. 

"  I  know  of  none.  I  cannot  see  why  we  should 
quarrel  with  our  neighbors  and  although  the  negroes 
are  turbulent  in  the  back  country,  one  leaves  them 
alone.  The  Germans  have  led  us  into  extravagance, 
sefior.  All  must  be  efficient  and  worked  on  a  plan! 
They  do  not  understand  us.  We  are  not  machines 
like  them!  " 

He  stopped,  for  one  of  the  guards  roughly  ordered 
the  party  farther  back  into  the  wood.  From  their  new- 
position  they  could  not  see  much.  Sloped  rifles  tossed 
and  wavered  across  the  opening  in  the  trees;  steel 
bands  and  swivels  shone  in  the  moon,  and  one  dis- 
tinguished shadowy  figures  going  by.  After  a  time 
the  measured  tramp  got  fainter  and  rolled  up  the  hill, 
and  the  beat  of  horses'  feet  came  out  of  the  gloom. 
The  soldier  who  had  driven  the  party  back  went  to  the 
road  and  his  voice  reached  the  others.  Then  he  or- 
dered them  to  advance  and  they  saw  two  or  three 
mounted  officers  in  the  moonlight.  One  sat  stiff  and 
motionless  and  asked  a  few  sharp  questions  in  uncouth 
Castilian,  after  which  he  turned  to  a  companion. 

"  They  say  they  are  sportsmen  and  the  fellow  in  t'le 


240  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

cloak  claims  to  be  well  known.  The  others  look  like 
foreigners.  I  will  leave  you  to  talk  to  them,  Don 
Maccario." 

"  Ah,"  said  Don  Luis,  "  now  the  thing  resolves  it- 
self!" 

The  other  officer  pushed  his  horse  forward,  and 
then  laughed.  "  It  is  you,  my  friend !  Well,  per- 
haps we  ought  to  make  our  apologies,  but  we  are  being 
trained  on  the  German  model  and  you  are  not  as  dis- 
creet as  usual." 

"  Is  one  forbidden  to  look  at  the  soldiers  for  whom, 
one  must  pay?  "  Don  Luis  asked. 

"  One  is  not  encouraged,  when  they  marched  at 
night,"  the  other  rejoined  dryly. 

"  I  and  my  friends  come  back  from  shooting  and 
there  is  no  other  road.  What  must  we  do  ?  It  is  well 
known  that  I  am  a  staunch  supporter  of  the  President's 
and  a  friend  of  Don  Ramon's.  However,  you  can  see 
the  ducks  and  our  guns." 

"  It  is  not  necessary.  Do  you  know  Don  Ramon 
is  at  the  mission  ?  I  think  he  means  to  breakfast  with 
you  to-morrow.  But  who  are  your  friends  ?  " 

Don  Luis  presented  Wyndham  and  Marston,  and 
after  greeting  them  politely  the  officer  let  the  party  go. 
They  rode  on  down  the  hill  and  Don  Luis  grumbled. 

"  I  am  staunchly  for  the  Government ;  the  thing  was 
ridiculous.  I  do  not  see  why  they  hide  our  soldiers. 
It  is  some  German  plan.  We  will  talk  about  it  to  Don 
Ramon  if  he  comes  in  the  morning." 

When  they  reached  the  finca  and  Wyndham  and 
Marston  were  alone  for  a  few  minutes  the  former 
said,  "  Perhaps  it's  lucky  we  came  here,  because  I  think 
I  have  found  a  clew.  I  expect  you  noted  they  tried  to 


WYNDHAM  FINDS  A  CLEW        241 

keep   the  drilling  and   equipping  of   the   President's 
battalion  a  secret." 

"  It  looks  like  that,"  said  Marston.  "  Still  I  don't 
see  what  it  implies." 

"  For  one  thing,  it  implies  they  want  a  small,  highly- 
efficient,  striking  force.  The  force  is  obviously  to  be 
used.  These  fellows  don't  study  efficiency  for  its  own 
sake." 

"  But  why  don't  they  want  people  to  know  ?  " 
"  I  think  that's  rather  plain.  There's  an  advantage 
in  striking  before  your  antagonist  is  ready,  and  the 
citizens  of  this  country  have  some  talent  for  political 
intrigue ;  plot  and  counter  plot  are  always  going  on.  I 
don't  imagine  the  President  altogether  trusts  his 
friends." 

"  Ah,"  said  Marston,  "  I  begin  to  see " 

He  stopped,  and  when  Don  Luis  came  up  talked 
about  the  shooting. 


CHAPTER  V 

DON    LUIS'    BREAKFAST    PARTY 

ONE  got  up  early  at  the  Finca  Buenavista,  and 
when  they  had  been  given  some  black  coffee  and 
a  small  hard  roll,  Wyndham  and  Marston  went  to  a 
bench  in  the  patio.  The  house  was  built  in  a  hollow 
square  and  its  occupants  used  the  patio  when  the  rooms 
were  hot.  One  wall  was  pierced  by  arches  opening  to 
the  kitchen  and  stable;  outside  stairs,  balconies,  and 
windows  with  green  shutters,  broke  the  straight  front 
of  the  others.  In  places,  purple  masses  of  Bougain- 
villea  glowed  against  the  ochre  wash,  and  beyond  the 
flat  roof  a  steep  hill,  darkly  green  with  foliage,  rolled 
up  against  a  background  of  distant  mountains.  In  the 
middle  of  the  square  a  pepper  tree  stretched  its  thin 
branches  across  a  marble  fountain,  in  which  shining 
water  splashed.  The  finca  dated  back  to  days  when 
the  country  prospered  under  Spanish  rule. 

Wyndham  lighted  his  pipe  and  looked  thoughtful 
when  he  began  to  smoke. 

"If  Larrinaga  is  curious  about  us,  he  will  come  to 
breakfast,"  he  said.  "  Since  I  think  we  can  take  this 
for  granted,  we  had  better  choose  our  line." 

"  Why  do  you  think  he  is  curious?  "  Marston  asked. 

"To  begin  with,  I  doubt  if  he's  persuaded  our  ob- 
ject for  stopping  at  the  lagoon  is  to  carry  on  an  or- 
dinary, lawful  trade.  We  have  some  grounds  for 

imagining  Peters  has  not  told  him  the  Bat  is  my  rela- 

242 


DON  LUIS'  BREAKFAST  PARTY     243 

tion;  but  I  expect  he  knows  we  could  not  get  much 
cargo  without  the  Bat's  consent.  Then  it's  possible  he 
has  heard  about  our  examining  the  boats,  and  now  we 
are  found  watching  the  secret  maneuvers  of  his  troops. 
It's  pretty  obvious  whom  they  are  to  be  used  against." 

Marston  nodded.  "  I've  been  pondering  this. 
They  could  put  three  or  four  platoons  of  cazadorcs 
on  board  the  old  gunboat  and  land  them  where  they 
are  wanted  in  the  cargo  lighters.  In  fact,  if  it  was 
fine  weather,  the  Government's  tug  could  tow  them 
all  the  way.  That's  why  Larrinaga  brought  the  pilot 
over.  The  question  is:  what  ought  we  to  do  about  it? 
Do  you  mean  to  warn  the  Bat  ?  " 

"  Xot  yet,"  said  Wyndham,  thoughtfully.  "If  he 
got  warning  soon  enough,  he  would  probably  be  able  to 
make  a  good  fight.  Although  I  don't  imagine  he  could 
win,  a  number  of  the  soldiers  would  be  killed.  \\  e 
don't  want  this." 

Marston  agreed.  Their  business  was  not  to  take  a 
side.  Indeed,  it  was  unthinkable  that  they  should  help 
either  party.  All  the  same,  he  was  puzzled,  because 
since  they  could  not  allow  the  Bat  to  be  captured  and 
shot,  something  must  be  done.  After  a  moment  or 
two,  Wyndham  resumed: 

"  I  have  a  half-formed  plan.  We  must  find  out 
where  the  soldiers  will  land  and  when  they'll  start. 
Then  we  must  get  across  before  them  and  take  the 
Bat  the  news  while  they  are  marching  through  the  bush. 
It  will  not  matter  if  his  spies  bring  him  word  a  few 
hours  sooner.  This  will  bear  out  our  tale;  but  our 
arrival  must  be  carefully  timed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marston  and  pondered. 

Harry's  plan  was  vague,  but  on  the  whole  it  was 


244  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

good.  The  Bat  must  be  taken  by  surprise,  without 
time  being  given  him  to  organize  a  defense.  Then  he 
might  be  forced  to  surrender,  not  to  the  soldiers  but  to 
his  relation,  and  they  must  try  to  smuggle  him  on  board 
the  yacht.  The  scheme,  however,  needed  to  be  care- 
fully worked  out. 

'  You  are   reckoning  on  his   not   being   ready   to 
fight,"  he  said. 

Wyndham  gave  him  a  curious  smile.  "  That  is  so. 
You  ought  to  see  why  he  is  not  ready,  because,  to  some 
extent,  you  are  accountable.  Negroes  and  half-breeds, 
armed  with  cutlasses  and  a  few  old  guns,  can't  stand 
up  against  well-drilled  troops.  The  Bat  has  been  em- 
barrassed by  not  getting  the  material  he  expected  us  to 
bring." 

"Of  course,"  said  Marston  awkwardly.  "  Well, 
how  are  we  to  find  out  when  the  troops  will  sail?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  So  far,  we  have  been  lucky ;  we 
must  trust  our  luck  again." 

"  Suppose  all  goes  as  you  expect,  and  the  Bat  sees  a 
struggle  would  be  useless  and  gives  himself  up  to  us? 
What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him?  " 

"  That's  perhaps  the  worst  puzzle,"  said  Wyndham 
dryly.  "  We  must  try  to  solve  it  when  it  comes.  It's 
possible,  however,  the  Bat  may  solve  it  for  us." 

Marston  smoked  for  a  time,  glancing  sympathetically 
at  Wyndham,  who  knitted  his  brows.  Then  Bob  said, 
"  To  begin  with,  we  have  got  to  bluff  Larrinaga  and 
he  is  not  a  fool.  How  do  you  mean  to  satisfy  him?  " 

"  On  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  leave  the  job  to  you," 
Wyndham  replied  and  his  eyes  twinkled  when  he  saw 
Marston's  surprise.  "  Don  Ramon's  a  good  judge  of 
character  and  would  think  a  little  embarrassment  on 


DON  LUIS'  BREAKFAST  PARTY     245 

your  part  rather  natural.  You're  not  the  stuff  ro- 
mantic conspirators  are  made  of,  and  our  being  part- 
ners will  imply  much.  However,  there's  a  drawback ; 
he  mustn't  think  I  have  cheated  and  am  using  you." 

;<  Then,  I'm  to  look  simple  and  trustful,  but  not  alto- 
gether a  fool.  You  give  me  a  hard  part.  I  doubt  if  I 
can  play  it,"  Marston  grumbled. 

'  You  mustn't  try  to  play  a  part,"  said  Wyndham 
firmly.  "  Be  frank  where  you  can,  but  don't  talk  too 
much.  There's  a  thing  may  help  us ;  Don  Ramon  will 
be  careful  not  to  hint  our  seeing  the  boats  and  the 
soldiers  in  field  equipment  is  important.*' 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Marston  gloomily,  "  I'll  be  glad 
when  breakfast's  over." 

About  eleven  o'clock  two  servants  began  to  spread  a 
table  under  the  pepper  tree,  where  the  shadow  of  a  pro- 
jecting balcony  stretched  across  the  broken  flags. 
Soon  afterwards,  Don  Luis,  looking  hot  and  slightly 
disturbed,  entered  the  patio  with  Larrinaga  and  a  thin, 
dark-faced  gentleman  who  wore  plain  white  clothes. 
Marston,  however,  noted  that  his  hat  and  silk  belt  were 
remarkably  good,  and  thought  he  had  somewhere  seen 
his  portrait,  only  the  man  had  then  worn  a  handsome 
uniform.  Bob  got  up  as  the  strangers  advanced  and 
Wyndham,  taking  off  his  hat,  gave  him  a  quick  glance. 
Marston  felt  he  was  warned  to  brace  himself. 

"  My  poor  house  is  honored  to-day,"  Don  Luis  re- 
marked. "  Our  illustrious  President  will  breakfast 
with  us." 

The  President  smiled  urbanely  and  Don  Luis  pre- 
sented his  guests.  Wyndham  saw  and  frankly  re- 
turned Larrinaga's  twinkle,  but  he  felt  some  strain  and 
hoped  Bob  would  take  the  proper  line.  If,  as  he 


246  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

thought,  he  understood  Don  Ramon,  the  latter  had, 
perhaps,  hinted  they  would  sooner  breakfast  uncere- 
moniously in  the  patio;  Wyndham  afterwards  found 
this  supposition  correct.  The  stage  was,  so  to  speak, 
properly  set.  The  light  was  strong  and  a  row  of  win- 
dows commanded  the  table.  Nothing  indicated  plot 
or  secrecy.  The  party  would  meet  without  reserve 
and  engage  in  careless  talk. 

"  I  did  not  know  his  Excellency  was  at  the  mission, 
or  I  might  have  ventured  to  offer  him  hospitality," 
Don  Luis  remarked  when  the  President  was  served. 

"  Nobody  knows,"  said  the  latter,  smiling.  "  Now 
and  then  I  neglect  my  duties  and  steal  away  from  town. 
I  can  trust  my  officers,  when  they  do  not  know  I  have 
gone.  A  President  has  some  cares  and  perhaps  de- 
serves a  holiday.  Besides,  I  like  to  watch  my  soldiers' 
drill." 

Wyndham  imagined  the  President  had  thought  it 
prudent  to  account  for  his  visit  to  the  mission,  and  ad- 
mitted that  the  statement  was  plausible.  He  said  that 
so  far  as  he  could  judge,  the  cazadorcs  were  excellently 
drilled. 

"  I  understand  it  was  dark  when  you  saw  them,"  the 
President  replied.  "  However,  if  soldiers  interest  you 
and  I  am  not  recalled  to  town,  you  and  Sefior  Marston 
must  come  and  see  them  at  the  morning  parade." 

"  I  hope  we  did  not  break  your  rules  last  night,"  said 
Marston.  "  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  pulled  up  sooner, 
but  my  horse  was  fresh  and  got  out  of  control.  Then 
I  was  not  used  to  the  saddle  and  stirrups.  I  do  not 
ride  much." 

"  Sefior  Marston  is  a  sailor,  what  the  English  call 
a  yachts-man,"  Larrinaga  interposed.  "  For  him, 


DON  LUIS'  BREAKFAST  PARTY     247 

sport  means  the  sea.  His  taste  is  strange,  but  some 
of  his  countrymen  are  like  that.  If  I  were  rich,  I 
would  sooner  amuse  myself  at  the  casino." 

'  Then  our  friend  is  rich?  "  the  President  remarked. 
"  But  I  remember  —  these  gentlemen  paid  some  duties 
our  officers  neglected  to  collect.  It  is  a  thing  that 
does  not  often  happen  in  this  country.  Since  Sefior 
Marston  is  both  rich  and  honest,  he  has  my  felicita- 
tions. However,  we  owe  him  and  Don  Luis  some 
apologies."  He  turned  to  the  others.  "  I  hope  you 
were  not  treated  roughly,  but  our  new  officers  are  very 
strict  and  use  all  military  caution." 

Wyndham  laughed.  "  We  make  no  complaint. 
But  surely  even  a  German  officer  could  not  imagine 
three  or  four  men  with  shot-guns  meant  to  attack  a 
battalion  of  soldiers  as  brave  and  disciplined  as  yours? 
We  would  much  like  to  see  them  in  the  daylight." 

"  If  I  am  allowed  to  stop  at  the  mission,  we  will  fix 
a  time,"  the  President  said  graciously. 

"  Is  not  the  mission  an  awkward  spot  for  a  bar- 
racks ?  "  Wyndham  asked.  "  It  is  a  long  way  from 
the  town  and  the  road  is  bad." 

"  It  is  lonely  and  quiet.  Ours  is  a  small  country  and 
we  have  jealous  neighbors.  One  must  take  precau- 
tions, but,  since  spies  are  numerous,  it  is  not  prudent 
to  display  our  readiness  to  fight.  When  one  wants 
peace,  one  does  not  go  about  with  a  fine  new  pistol  in 
one's  belt." 

Wyndham  agreed.  The  President's  explanation 
•was  plausible  and  his  humorous  frankness  calculated 
to  banish  doubt,  but  Wyndham  was  not  deceived. 
Moreover,  he  thought  Larrinaga  was  watching  him. 
Larrinaga's  object  for  bringing  the  President  was 


248  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

plain ;  he  wanted  his  master  to  see  the  men  he  had  al- 
lowed to  trade  at  a  spot  where  the  Bat  would  try  to 
get  supplies.  Wyndham  felt  that  he  and  Marston  were 
being  closely  examined.  Then  the  President  turned  to 
Marston. 

"  Since  I  am  told  you  came  from  Africa  in  your 
little  ship,  it  looks  as  if  you  are  a  keen  sailor." 

"  I  love  the  sea,"  said  Marston,  simply.  "  There  is 
no  other  sport  like  sailing." 

The  President  shrugged,  and  pushing  back  his  plate, 
gave  Marston  a  cigar. 

"  It  is  a  love  that  needs  cultivation.  When  I  go  to 
sea  I  am  very  ill.  Then  one  understands  you  others 
have  comfortable  yachts.  To  go  to  sea  in  a  trading 
boat  is  another  thing." 

"  All  the  same,  one  is  at  sea,"  Marston  replied. 
"  Besides,  in  a  sense,  a  yacht  is  a  toy,  and  when  you 
have  sailed  about  for  a  time  you  begin  to  feel  it  is 
playing  and  does  not  lead  to  much."  He  paused  and 
resumed  apologetically:  '  Yachting  is  not  serious,  if 
you  understood.  I  expect  my  Castilian  is  very  bad." 

The  President  smiled  and  Wyndham  thought  his 
look  of  puzzled  amusement  was  well  done.  He  was 
satisfied  with  his  comrade's  reply.  Bob  was  not  play- 
ing up;  he  was  sincere.  The  others  would  recognize 
this. 

"  The  English  are  a  serious  people,"  the  President 
remarked.  "  But  go  on,  my  friend.  I  am  not  bored." 

"  Well,"  said  Marston,  "  when  I  got  tired  of  playing, 
I  saw  how  I  could  make  my  yachting  useful.  I  thought 
I  could  earn  some  money.  Then  Harry,  I  mean 
Senor  Wyndham  — "  He  stopped  and  gave  Wynd- 
ham an  apologetic  glance. 


DON  LUIS'  BREAKFAST  PARTY     249 

"  He  means  he  wanted  to  help  me,"  Wyndham  in- 
terposed. 

"  To  earn  money  is  certainly  useful,"  the  President 
observed  and  turned  to  Wyndham.  "  Your  partner  is 
a  very  scrupulous  gentleman ;  he  would  not  rob  me  and 
feels  that  he  must  use  his  talents.  But  you  do  not  go 
to  sea  altogether  because  you  like  it?  " 

"  I  am  a  merchant  and  live  by  trade.  I  am  forced  to 
earn  money.'' 

"  Then  I  hope  you  will  earn  enough  to  pay  us  our 
duties  and  I  expect  Don  Ramon  will  help  you  when 
he  can,"  said  the  President.  "  I  am  sorry  we  have  no 
ships  to  show  Seiior  Marston,  because  we  are  too  poor 
to  build  a  navy  yet.  We  have  an  old  gunboat  and  a 
big  new  tug.  I  do  not  know  why  we  bought  the  tug, 
but  the  captain  of  the  port-guards  uses  her  to  travel 
about  the  coast." 

He  paused  and  got  up.  "  Now  I  must  go  back  to 
the  mission.  If  it  is  possible,  you  shall  see  our  sol- 
diers, and  if  not,  I  may  perhaps  come  to  see  your  ship." 

Larrinaga  and  Don  Luis  went  off  with  him  and  Mar- 
ston drained  his  glass. 

"  That's  done  with !  "  he  remarked  with  keen  re- 
lief. "After  all,  it  was  easier  than  I  thought,  but  I 
got  a  knock  when  I  saw  the  fellow  was  the  President. 
Don  Luis  is  a  staunch  supporter  of  his  and  perhaps  he 
imagined  breakfasting  with  him  would  be  a  cheap  re- 
ward. Presidents  and  such  people  do  things  like  that." 

"  It's  possible,  but  I  doubt,"  said  Wyndham  dryly. 

'  Then  suppose  he  came  to  study  us  ?  Do  you  ^hink 
he  feels  we  might  be  dangerous?  " 

"  I  imagined  he  feels  he  needn't  bother  about  you. 
I'd  much  like  to  know  what  he  thinks  about  me." 


250  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Marston,  "  he  didn't  push  me  hard 
and  I  got  a  part  I  could  play.  I'm  on  firm  ground  so 
long  as  I  can  talk  about  boats.  All  the  same,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  if  the  fellow  wanted  to  study  us, 
the  thing's  ominous.  The  country's  not  big,  but  he's 
its  head  and  I  don't  know  if  Presidents  are  often  polite 
to  traders." 

"  Exactly !  "  said  Wyndham.  "  We  must  be  care- 
ful. Anyhow,  we  have  found  out  something.  They 
don't  want  us  to  think  they  suspect  us,  or  that  their 
drilling  the  soldiers  is  important.  They're  clever,  but 
their  frankness  was  overdone.  However,  we  must 
start  for  the  port  when  Don  Luis  returns." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    SAIL    IN    THE   DARK 

/COLUMBINE'S  gig  rubbed  against  the  landing 
\^  steps  and  Wyndham  and  Marston  lounged  about 
the  end  of  the  mole.  The  sun  had  sunk  behind  a 
high,  black  range  and  the  land-breeze  had  begun  to 
blow  in  gentle  gusts  that  crisped  the  greasy  water  and 
dropped  again.  When  the  crew  were  trimming  ballast 
in  the  hold,  a  man  shouted  that  some  chain  Wyndham 
had  ordered  had  arrived,  and  he  and  Marston  pulled 
the  gig  to  the  steps.  After  putting  the  chain  on  board, 
they  strolled  to  the  town,  where  they  drank  a  glass  of 
wine  and  bought  a  newspaper;  and  then  went  back  to 
the  mole.  For  the  last  few  nights  they  had  slept  on 
board,  but  it  was  early  in  the  evening  and  the  top  of 
the  wall  was  cooler  than  the  deck  of  the  yacht.  Be- 
sides, a  Spanish  liner  was  steering  for  the  port  and 
they  waited  to  watch  her  passengers  land. 

Presently  Wyndham  looked  up  from  the  newspaper. 
"  It's  lucky  we  bought  the  Diario.  It  declares  the  re- 
port that  the  Sta  Catalina  mission  was  recently  plun- 
dered is  not  confirmed." 

"Isn't  that  Father  Sebastian's  station?"  Marston 
asked. 

Wyndham  nodded.  "  A  few  mud  huts,  and  a  small, 
thatched  church!  Still,  it  belongs  to  a  famous  Order 
and  pious  folk  no  doubt  sent  gifts,  because  the  Diario 's 
remarks  indicate  that  the  Virgin's  jewels  were  supposed 

251 


252  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

to  have  been  stolen.  If  this  is  true,  the  thing's  signifi- 
cant. The  most  part  of  the  people  here  are  pretty 
staunch  Catholics." 

"  But  the  newspaper  states  the  report  is  not  con- 
firmed." 

"  It  is  not  denied,"  said  Wyndham,  meaningly.  "  I 
imagine  the  Government  had  given  the  editor  a  hint. 
You  see,  the  desecration  of  a  church  by  negroes  would 
rouse  the  citizens'  feelings  and  lead  to  a  popular  de- 
mand for  swift  punishment.  If  the  President  com- 
plied, the  Bat  would  know  about  it,  and  the  republicans 
would  lose  the  advantage  of  surprise.  All  the  same, 
they  must  strike  soon,  because  the  Bat  will  now  get 
ready." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  think  he  let  his  people  rob  the 
mission?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  did  so.  Perhaps  some  were  too 
keen  and  got  out  of  control;  perhaps  some  meant  to 
force  Larrinaga  to  put  him  down.  They're  a  treach- 
erous lot  and  given  to  intrigue.  However,  there's  an- 
other bit  of  news.  The  gunboat,  Campeador,  has  gone 
into  Anagas,  damaged,  after  stranding,  and  will  need 
extensive  repairs.  I  expect  this  is  true,  because  folks 
at  Anagas  could  see  the  boat." 

"  It's  important,"  Marston  declared.  "  If  the  gun- 
boat's damaged,  Don  Ramon  can't  use  her  to  carry  his 
troops.  Still  I  suppose  the  Government  tug  could  tow 
them  along  the  coast  on  board  the  lighters.  They  are 
overhauling  her  at  San  Cristobal.  Looks  as  if  we 
had  better  find  out  when  they'll  finish  the  job." 

Wyndham  nodded.  San  Cristobal  was  some  dis- 
tance off ;  a  small  town  with  a  good  harbor,  where  there 
was  a  foundry  and  a  coaling  wharf.  Yet  it  would  be 


A  SAIL  IN  THE  DARK  253 

dangerous  to  make  open  inquiries  about  the  tug  or  to 
visit  the  place,  because  Wyndham  had  grounds  for 
imagining  they  were  watched.  Indeed,  one  of  the 
port-guards  was  lounging  near  them.  When  a  whistle 
screamed  he  looked  up  and  saw  the  liner  circle  outside 
the  mole.  Foam  broke  about  her  side  as  the  screw 
turned  astern,  a  row  of  lights  flashed  into  brightness, 
and  big  electric  hatch  lamps  blazed  up  on  deck.  She 
stopped,  the  anchor  splashed,  and  the  doctor's  noisy 
launch  went  off.  Then  the  yellow  flag  came  down  and 
shore  boats  crowded  about  the  ship. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  returning  boats  pulled 
towards  the  mole.  A  steamer  was  anchored  near  the 
entrance,  and  Columbine  rode  between  her  and  the  wall, 
leaving  a  narrow  channel  through  which  the  boats  must 
pass.  When  the  first  was  close  by  Wyndham  glanced 
carelessly  at  the  passengers,  but  after  a  few  moments 
his  glance  got  fixed.  Among  the  row  of  faces  there 
was  one  he  thought  he  knew  and  as  the  boat  drew 
level  with  him  he  clenched  his  fist. 

"  Look  at  the  third  man  in  the  stern-sheets,  Bob,"  he 
said. 

Marston  looked  and  started.  "  It's  Peters !  This 
is  going  to  make  things  awkward.  The  brute  has  lost 
no  time.  D'you  think  he  knows  we're  here?" 

"  He  knows  Columbine,"  said  Wyndham.  "  I  im- 
agine he  sees  her."  Peters  turned  his  head  and  his 
movements  indicated  that  he  was  talking  to  the  sailor 
who  rowed  on  the  thwart  in  front. 

"  That  is  enough,"  Marston  remarked.  "  He'll  try 
us  again  in  the  morning,  and  if  we're  firm,  he'll  see 
what  he  can  do  with  Larrinaga.  We  are  going  to  be 
firm.  I  won't  buy  off  the  brute." 


254  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  Then  we  had  better  get  to  sea,  but  we  must  find 
out  about  the  tug  before  we  start.  On  the  whole,  I 
think  we'll  get  about  it  now." 

Marston  was  surprised.  "  San  Cristobal's  a  long 
way  off,  and  I  don't  know  if  we  could  hire  horses. 
Then  I  doubt  if  we  could  return  by  noon  to-morrow, 
and  one  of  the  port-guards  might  board  Columbine  in 
the  morning.  Larrinaga  would  guess  our  object  if  he 
found  out  where  we'd  gone." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Wyndham.  "  We  can't  go  by  road, 
but  the  gig  is  here  and  we'd  shorten  the  distance  by 
sailing  across  the  bay.  In  fact,  if  we're  lucky,  we 
ought  to  have  an  hour  or  two  to  look  about  and  then 
get  back  by  daybreak.  The  land-breeze  will  soon  blow 
fresh ;  a  fair  wind  both  ways." 

"  By  George !  "  said  Marston.  "  The  thing  can  be 
done!" 

Running  down  the  steps,  they  pushed  off  the  gig. 
She  was  a  well-built  boat,  twenty  feet  long,  and  on  the 
African  coast  Marston  had  got  a  Fanti  carpenter  to 
fit  her  with  a  centerboard.  She  carried  a  big  sail  when 
she  had  a  crew  on  board,  and  now  the  heavy  chain 
would  make  good  ballast.  When  they  had  got  a  com- 
pass, a  lantern,  and  some  food  from  Columbine,  they 
pulled  off  among  some  shore  boats  going  to  the  liner, 
and  vanished  into  the  darkness  round  her  stern. 

"  If  the  port-guard  saw  us,  he'd  reckon  we  meant  to 
board  the  mailboat,  but  it's  possible  he  didn't  pick  us 
out  from  the  others,"  Wyndham  remarked.  "  Well, 
the  breeze  is  freshening.  Let's  put  up  the  mast." 

They  were  occupied  for  some  minutes,  and  then 
•Wyndham  sat  down  at  the  tiller  and  the  gig,  leaning 
over,  gathered  speed.  Marston  had  had  the  lugsail 


A  SAIL  IN  THE  DARK  255 

and  jib  made  in  England  by  a  famous  yacht-chandler, 
and  the  boat  was  fast.  Foam  piled  up  at  her  lee  bow, 
lapped  the  gunwale  at  her  waist,  and  boiled  round  her 
stern.  The  breeze  came  down  in  gusts  from  the  high 
land,  and  now  and  then  the  boat,  listing  sharply, 
shipped  some  water.  Wyndham  might  have  avoided 
this  by  slackening  the  sheet,  but  he  held  on  to  the  rope 
and  kept  his  course.  Although  the  night  was  dark, 
he  could  see  the  hills  against  the  sky  and  for  a  time 
he  followed  the  coast.  Then,  when  the  shore  curved 
back  in  a  wide  bay,  he  told  Marston  to  put  the  com- 
pass on  the  thwart  and  light  the  lantern. 

"  Get  out  the  baler  and  bucket,  afterwards,"  he  said. 
"  There's  room  enough  for  the  wind  to  knock  up  the 
sea,  and  she'll  take  some  water  on  board  as  we  reach 
across.  Time's  valuable  and  we  must  hold  her  to  it, 
without  shortening  sail." 

Marston  crouched  behind  the  lifted  weather  gunwale 
and  lighted  the  lantern ;  then  he  saw  that  halyards  and 
sheets  were  clear,  and  afterwards  pulled  up  the  well- 
board  in  the  stern  flooring.  Sitting  down  with  the 
baler  in  his  hand  by  the  hole,  he  waited  and  looked 
about.  The  sea  began  to  break  as  they  drew  out  from 
the  land.  Showers  of  spray  beat  into  the  hollow  of  the 
jib  and  the  splashes  that  blew  across  the  weather  bow 
got  heavier.  The  wind  was  not,  as  they  had  hoped, 
abeam,  but  a  point  or  two  ahead,  and  Marston  lowered 
the  centerboard,  which  jolted  in  its  trunk  when  she 
plunged.  She  was  not  shipping  much  water  yet  and 
he  wondered  whether  he  could  light  his  pipe.  Then 
Wyndham  said,  "  Look  out!  " 

A  white  comber  rose  to  windward,  there  was  a  thud, 
and  jib  and  short  bowsprit  vanished.  A  white  cloud 


256  WYXDHAM'S  PAL 

hid  the  mainsail  and  foaming  water  flooded  aft.  As 
he  used  the  baler  Marston  heard  the  sheet-blocks  rat- 
tle. Wyndham  was  easing-  her  while  he  threw  the 
water  out.  It  was  hard  to  fill  the  bucket  because  the 
flood  washed  to  and  fro.  but  he  knew  the  job  was 
urgent.  He  was  wet  and  breathless  when  he  looked 
up. 

"  A  nasty  one !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Here's  another,"  said  Wyndham,  and  flying  wrater 
whipped  Marston's  face. 

-er  this  he  was  kept  occupied.  Sometimes  he 
used  the  bucket  and  sometimes  the  baler,  for  water 
came  on  board  fast.  Xow  and  then  he  imagined 
Wyndham  slackened  the  sheet  to  ease  a  plunge  that 
might  swamp  the  beat,  but  this  was  Harry's  business 
and  he  must  not  neglect  his.  Balancing  himself 
against  the  lurching,  he  scooped  up  the  splashing  flood, 
.en  a  gust  heeled  the  boat  over  it  gained  on  him, 
and  then  as  the  pressure  slackened  he  held  his  own, 
but  while  he  used  his  best  efforts  he  could  not  bale  her 
dry.  At  length,  when  his  arms  ached  and  he  was  very 
wet.  he  stopped  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Don't  know  if  I  can  keep  it  up  for  long;  I'm  hor- 
ribly cramped,"  he  said.  "Can't  we  drop  the  lug 
and  tie  in  a  reef  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  if  she'd  hold  her  course  with  sail  short- 
ened." Wyndham  replied.  "  The  breeze  has  drawn 
another  point  ahead  and  we'll  lose  time  we  can't 
spare  if  we're  forced  to  tack.  Stick  it  out,  Bob. 
We'll  get  smoother  water  when  we  pick  up  the  land 
again." 

He  stopped  and  jerked  the  tiller,  a  moment  too  late, 
for  a  sea  came  over  the  bow.  The  water  foamed  about 


A  SAIL  IN  THE  DARK  257 

Marston's  knees,  the  lantern  went  out,  and  he  thought 
he  felt  the  compass  strike  his  legs. 

"  Bale!  "  said  Wyndham,  sharply.  "  She'll  capsize 
if  she  ships  another  before  you  get  this  lot  out." 

Marston  did  his  best,  while  the  lantern  and  compass 
washed  against  the  bucket.  There  was  no  use  in  stop- 
ping to  pick  them  up,  since  he  could  not  get  a  light  and 
Harry  was  now  steering  by  the  wind.  He  must  keep 
her  as  near  it  as  she  would  point  until  they  crossed  the 
bay  and  found  the  land  again.  Marston  hoped  this 
would  be  soon.  For  some  time  he  did  not  look  up  and 
afterwards  wondered  how  Wyndham  kept  her  afloat, 
but  at  length  the  plunges  got  easier  and  the  water  did 
not  come  on  board  so  fast.  By  degrees,  he  got  it  un- 
der, and  stopping  to  stretch  his  cramped  limbs,  looked 
to  windward.  The  sea  was  smoother  and  the  breeze 
not  so  fresh.  There  was  a  vague  dark  line  not  far  off 
and  he  knew  they  were  approaching  the  beach. 

"  We'll  be  round  the  point  in  a  few  minutes,''  said 
Wyndham.  "  Bale  her  dry,  and  then  look  out  for  the 
red  light  at  San  Cristobal." 

Soon  after  he  stopped  baling,  Marston  saw  a  red 
twinkle.  The  gig  was  sailing  very  fast,  swaying 
down  and  recovering  buoyantly  as  the  gusts  came  and 
went.  The  lug-yard  bent  in  a  strained  curve  and 
showers  of  spray  blew  into  the  sail.  Marston,  stooping 
behind  the  gunwale,  managed  to  strike  a  match  and 
told  Wyndham  the  time  when  he  had  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"  We  have  made  a  good  run.  but  she'll  beat  it  going 
back,  when  we'll  have  the  wind  a  point  or  two  aft," 
he  added.  "  This  ought  to  give  us  an  hour,  or  per- 
haps an  hour-and-a-half,  at  the  port." 


258  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  It  will  be  enough.  Unluckily,  the  tide  is  ebbing 
yet,  and  although  there's  not  much  rise  and  fall,  I  don't 
know  if  we  can  both  leave  the  boat.  It  would  be  awk- 
ward if  she  grounded  and  we  couldn't  shove  her  off." 

Marston  nodded.  The  gig  was  heavy  and  he 
doubted  if  they  could  launch  her  down  a  beach.  It 
would  be  risky  to  tie  her  to  landing  steps,  because  the 
port-guards  watched  the  harbors  at  night.  Vessels 
were  not  allowed  to  enter  after  dark.  Yet  he  did  not 
want  to  be  separated  from  Harry. 

In  the  meantime,  they  were  fast  coming  up  with  the 
light,  and  when  a  high,  dark  wall  ran  out  in  front 
Wyndham  luffed  the  boat  and  they  lowered  sail  and 
took  down  the  mast.  Marston  sculled  her  past  the 
wall,  and  the  narrow  harbor  opened  up.  A  few  an- 
chor lights  swung  languidly  inside,  and  the  indistinct, 
dark  shape  of  a  steamer  shut  out  part  of  the  wall. 
When  they  got  near  her  Marston  stopped  sculling. 

11  The  repairing  slip  is  up  at  the  top  by  the  foundry," 
he  said.  "  I  expect  the  brigantine  to  starboard  has  a 
rope  out.  If  we  try  to  get  across,  we  might  make  a 
splash.  If  we  go  the  other  side,  we'll  pass  close  under 
the  steamer's  rail.  She's  a  pretty  big  boat ;  they'll  have 
a  Scrcno  on  board,  and  keep  harbor  watch.  If  some- 
body hailed  us,  it  might  bring  the  port-guard." 

Wyndham  nodded  and  for  a  few  moments  they 
looked  about.  The  harbor  was  long  and  narrow.  For 
the  most  part,  the  town  at  its  end  was  dark,  but  two  or 
three  big  electric  lamps  threw  a  silver  gleam  across  in- 
distinct masses  of  foliage.  Marston  thought  these 
were  trees  on  the  marina  at  the  water's  edge.  If  so, 
the  faint  light  lower  down  came  from  the  office  of 


A  SAIL  IN  THE  DARK  259 

the  port-captain.  Turning  to  the  wall  abreast  of  the 
gig,  he  imagined  he  saw  some  steps. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  land  me  and  wait  while  I 
try  to  find  the  tug,"  he  said.  "  I  ought  to  get  back  in 
an  hour." 

"  The  awkward  part  is  going  along  the  mole," 
Wyndham  replied.  "  You'll  have  to  pass  two  or  three 
vessels  and  somebody  may  speak  to  you.  This  must 
be  risked  one  way,  but  instead  of  coming  back,  it  might 
be  prudent  to  cross  the  land  end  of  the  mole  and  join 
me  on  the  beach  in  front  of  the  marina.  There's  not 
much  surf  to  bother  us,  but  it  will  make  some  noise  and 
if  anybody  is  about  you  won't  be  heard." 

Marston  agreed,  and  sculling  to  the  steps,  jumped 
out.  He  pushed  off  the  gig,  and  Wyndham  picked  up 
the  oar.  In  another  few  moments  the  boat  vanished 
in  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    TUG 

WHEN  he  had  climbed  the  steps  Marston  stopped. 
Now  he  had  started  on  his  adventure  he  saw 
its  difficulties.  To  begin  with,  he  must  pass  two  or 
three  vessels,  and  the  lights  that  burned  on  the  steamer 
touched  the  mole.  She  came  from  Cadiz  and  Span- 
ish passenger  boats  carried  a  Serena,  whose  particular 
duty  was  to  keep  watch  at  night.  Marston  was  afraid 
the  man  might  hail  him.  Although  he  had  laboriously 
studied  Castilian,  he  did  not  speak  it  well,  and  his  ac- 
cent would  indicate  that  he  was  a  foreigner.  If  the 
Sercno  were  curious  and  kept  him  talking,  the  port- 
guard  might  come  up.  Anyhow,  there  was  some  risk 
of  his  meeting  the  latter  and  he  would  then  be  asked 
to  account  for  his  wandering  about  in  the  dark.  It 
was  obvious  that  he  could  not  do  so  satisfactorily,  and 
there  was  a  telephone  to  the  Government  office  at  the 
Capital. 

Marston  doubted  if  Larrinaga  could  imprison  him 
for  spying,  but  it  did  not  matter  much.  If  he  were 
found  at  San  Cristobal,  Don  Ramon  would  know  his 
object  and  would  not  let  him  go  until  he  had  sent  off 
his  soldiers  to  put  down  the  Bat.  If  the  latter  were 
not  warned,  he  would  probably  be  surprised  and  cap- 
tured. This  was  unthinkable,  and  Marston  saw  he 
must  not  be  caught,  although  to  run  away  from  the 
port-guard  might  lead  to  his  getting  shot.  The  fel- 

260 


THE  TUG  261 

lows  carried  pistols,  which  they  were  empowered  to 
use.  Caution  was  plainly  needed,  and  he  crept  past 
the  steamer,  keeping  close  to  the  high  parapet  of  the 
mole. 

Nobody  hailed  him,  and  he  went  on  until  he  came 
opposite  a  small  marque.  She  had  no  lights,  but  as  he 
stole  by  his  foot  struck  a  mooring  rope  and  he  fell. 
He  lay  flat  on  the  ground  for  some  moments,  and 
then,  hearing  no  movement  on  board,  got  up  and  crept 
away,  looking  out  for  the  next  rope.  The  mole  was 
long  and  he  had  not  gone  far  when  he  heard  the  splash 
of  oars.  A  boat  came  out  of  the  dark,  and  a  break 
in  the  wall  indicated  a  row  of  steps.  Marston  did  not 
want  to  turn  back,  and  it  was  possible  the  men  were 
going  to  one  of  the  vessels.  If  they  were  going  to 
the  town,  he  had  better  get  past  the  steps  before  they 
landed.  A  pile  of  goods  forced  him  to  leave  the  gloom 
of  the  parapet  and  it  looked  as  if  his  figure  cut  against 
the  sky,  for  the  splash  of  oars  stopped. 

"Ola  compailcro!"  somebody  shouted. 

Marston  saw  he  must  trust  his  luck  and  asked 
gruffly :  "  Que  quicrcf ''' 

The  man  said  they  were  coming  to  let  go  a  schoon- 
er's rope  but  he  might  throw  it  down,  and  Marston 
dragged  the  heavy  warp  to  the  edge. 

"  Coje-le"  he  said  in  a  hoarse  voice  and  threw  down 
the  rope. 

He  imagined  it  fell  upon  the  others'  heads,  for  some- 
body said,  "  Mai  rayo!  Esta  borracho." 

Then  the  boat  pulled  away  and  Marston  went  on. 
If  the  fellows  thought  him  drunk,  so  much  the  better. 
This  would  account  for  his  brevity  and  uncouth  ac- 
cent. He  wondered  whether  the  shouting  had  excited 


262  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

the  port-guards'  curiosity,  but  although  he  stopped  to 
listen  he  heard  nothing. 

By-and-by  he  got  near  the  end  of  the  mole  and  dis- 
tinguished the  repairing  ship,  which  ran  down  obliquely 
to  the  water.  The  trees  on  the  marina  rose  behind  it, 
touched  in  places  by  the  glow  from  two  big  electric 
lamps,  and  a  blurred,  dark  mass  cut  against  the  illu- 
mination. This  was,  no  doubt,  the  tug  and  he  won- 
dered, rather  anxiously,  whether  the  crew  were  on 
board.  Stopping  where  the  gloom  was  deepest,  he 
looked  carefully  about. 

The  tug's  bow  rose  high  above  him,  but  he  doubted 
if  the  tide  had  left  her  stern.  So  far  as  he  could  feel 
with  his  feet,  the  stones  were  covered  by  broken  shells, 
and  he  smelt  paint.  In  the  tropics,  the  bottom  of  an 
iron  vessel  soon  gets  crusted  with  shells  and  weed,  and 
it  looked  as  if  the  crew  had  scraped  the  boat.  When 
the  plates  were  clean  they  would  paint  her  with  red- 
oxide  before  applying  the  anti-fouling  coat.  It  was 
important  for  him  to  find  out  which  they  had  put  on, 
because,  since  they  could  only  work  at  low-water,  this 
might  mean  a  difference  of  a  day  or  two  in  the  time 
needed  to  finish  the  job.  All  the  same,  he  could  not 
take  it  for  granted  that  she  would  be  ready  for  sea 
when  the  last  coat  was  dry.  He  understood  her  en- 
gines were  being  overhauled,  and  must  ascertain  if  the 
work  were  done. 

Marston  moved  lower  down  the  inclined  slip.  The 
tug  was  a  big  propeller  boat  and  rested,  upright,  on 
heavy  shores.  When  he  was  level  with  the  engine- 
room  he  saw  a  ladder  against  her  side  and  his  foot 
struck  something  that  tinkled.  Stooping  down,  he  felt 
about  and  found  a  number  of  short  tubes,  some  of 


THE  TUG  263 

which  had  torn  ends.  They  had  obviously  come  from 
the  condenser,  and  re-tubing  a  condenser  might  be  a 
long  job.  It  looked  as  if  he  would  have  to  get  on 
board,  but,  to  begin  with,  he  had  better  see  how  far 
the  men  had  gone  with  the  painting. 

He  rubbed  his  hand  along  the  plates.  Although 
they  were  pretty  smooth,  this  did  not  tell  him  much 
and  he  got  no  plainer  hint  when  he  used  his  nose. 
There  was  a  strong  smell  of  paint,  but  he  could  not 
tell  if  it  was  the  priming  coat,  or  the  anti-fouling  that 
would  finish  the  work.  Perhaps  he  could  find  the 
drum  that  had  held  the  paint  and  he  began  to  feel 
about  as  he  moved  down  the  slip.  He  had  not  gone 
far,  however,  when  he  trod  on  a  piece  of  iron  that  tilted 
up  and  dropped  with  a  sharp  rattle.  To  continue  the 
search  might  be  dangerous  and  he  stopped  and  listened. 

All  was  quiet  on  board  the  tug;  the  trees  on  the 
marina  tossed  in  the  wind  and  the  surf  rumbled  behind 
the  mole.  A  clinking  noise  came  up  the  harbor  and 
Marston  imagined  the  men  whose  rope  he  had  thrown 
down  were  getting  ready  to  go  to  sea  at  sunrise ;  vessels 
were  not  allowed  to  leave  or  enter  port  in  the  dark. 
This  reminded  Marston  that  it  was  some  time  since  he 
had  left  Wyndham  and  they  must  reach  the  schooner 
before  daybreak. 

He  went  back  up  the  slip,  hoping  he  might  be  able 
to  see  the  tug's  deck.  Now  he  was  on  higher  ground, 
he  noted  a  faint  and  rather  puzzling  illumination  be- 
hind her  bulwarks.  Its  position  indicated  that  it  came 
from  the  engine-room  and  he  imagined  the  skylight  was 
open  but  somebody  had  thrown  a  tarpaulin  across  the 
frames.  The  hinged  lights  opened  from  the  bottom, 
and  perhaps  the  engineer  wanted  to  dry  his  paint  and 


264  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

yet  keep  the  heavy  dew  off  the  machinery.  Anyhow, 
since  there  was  a  light  in  the  engine-room,  one  could 
see  below. 

Marston  hesitated  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  It 
would  be  very  awkward  if  he  were  caught  on  board  the 
tug;  but  he  must  find  out  if  she  were  ready  for  sea  and 
he  wore  light,  rubber-soled  deck  shoes.  The  ladder 
was  not  fastened,  for  the  top  began  to  slip  along  the 
plates  when  he  climbed,  and  he  was  forced  to  reach 
up  and  seize  the  rail.  Next  moment  he  stepped  cau- 
tiously down  on  deck.  Nobody  seemed  to  have  heard 
him  and  all  was  dark  but  for  the  glow  from  the  sky- 
light, which  only  shone  for  a  few  feet  on  the  damp 
planks.  As  Marston  made  for  the  engine-room  his 
foot  struck  an  iron  drum  and  he  stopped.  It  was  a 
paint-drum,  but  he  must  discover  if  it  were  empty  and 
what  paint  the  crew  had  used. 

He  tilted  the  drum  and  its  lightness  indicated  that 
there  was  not  much  inside.  Then  he  turned  it  round 
carefully  until  he  could  see  the  brass  label  on  the  top. 
The  letters  were  obscured  by  paint,  but  he  distinguished 
JES  —  and  was  satisfied.  He  knew  the  famous  anti- 
f ouling  composition ;  the  crew  had  put  on  the  last  coat 
and,  so  far  as  her  being  painted  went,  the  tug  was  ready 
for  sea.  Now  he  must  look  at  her  engines,  and  he 
put  back  the  drum.  Its  rim  jarred  on  the  deck  and 
Marston  thought  he  heard  a  movement  below.  Stoop- 
ing down,  he  looked  under  the  tarpaulin  and  got  some- 
thing of  a  shock. 

A  man  stood  on  the  floor  plates  in  the  engine-room, 
with  his  face  turned  up  towards  the  skylight  as  if  he 
had  been  disturbed.  Marston  could  not  see  him  well, 
because  the  bars  of  the  top  platform  were  in  the  way, 


THE  TUG  265 

but  the  fellow  carried  a  small,  bright  piece  of  steel  and 
a  ball  of  waste.  It  looked  as  if  he  had  been  cleaning  a 
valve-spindle,  and  his  working  at  night  was  significant. 
Marston's  heart  beat,  but  after  a  few  moments  the 
other  seemed  to  be  satisfied  and  sitting  down  on  a 
locker  picked  up  a  file. 

'When  the  fellow  bent  his  head  over  his  work  Mars- 
ton  glanced  carefully  about  the  engine-room.  He  saw 
the  condenser;  the  cover  was  on,  which  indicated  that 
the  repairs  were  finished.  A  chain  tackle  hung  from 
the  beams  above  the  cylinders  and  some  nuts  lay  about 
their  heads.  The  pistons  had  obviously  been  lifted  in 
order  to  put  on  new  rings.  Other  things  Marston 
noted  implied  that  the  engines  had  been  given  a  thor- 
ough overhaul.  He  thought  the  work  was  nearly  com- 
pleted, but  when  one  examined  a  vessel's  engines  the 
boiler  was  generally  opened  and  he  crept  cautiously 
to  the  stokehold. 

The  ladder  came  up  to  a  grating  on  deck  and  when 
he  had  gone  down  half  way  he  struck  a  match.  He 
could  see  the  man-hole ;  the  cover  had  recently  been 
taken  off  and  replaced,  for  smears  of  red-lead  marked 
the  joint,  and  Marston  went  cautiously  back  to  the 
deck.  He  knew  all  he  wanted  to  know.  The  tug  had 
been  put  in  first-rate  order,  as  if  in  preparation  for 
some  important  work,  and  he  thought  she  could  be 
floated  off  after  another  tide.  He  must  now  rejoin 
Wyndham  as  soon  as  possible.  So  far,  he  had  been 
lucky,  but  when  he  went  to  the  rail  it  looked  as  if  his 
luck  had  turned. 

A  man,  singing  lustily,  crossed  the  marina  and  his 
hoarseness  implied  that  he  was  returning  from  a  ca- 
rouse. As  he  passed  the  port-captain's  office  some- 


266  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

body  hailed  him  and  Marston  heard  him  answer,  "  Fog- 
oncro." 

There  was  a  short  colloquy  that  seemed  to  get  abu- 
sive, and  then  somebody  said,  "  Vaya  al  diablo!" 

The  man  laughed  and  came  on  unsteadily  towards 
the  mole.  He  was  a  ship's  fireman,  and  Marston,  who 
did  not  want  to  meet  him,  hoped  he  was  not  making  for 
the  tug.  After  a  few  moments  he  fell  down  and 
Marston  thought  he  kicked  something  savagely  when 
he  got  up.  His  figure  was  now  faintly  distinguishable 
and  it  was  plain  that  he  meant  to  board  the  tug.  Mars- 
ton  crawled  round  the  skylight  and  crouched  against 
the  bulwarks  on  the  other  side.  A  rope  ran  across  the 
rail  and  he  tried  to  feel  if  its  end  was  fast.  The  rope 
might  help  him  to  reach  the  ground. 

Then  the  awkward  steps  stopped  at  the  tug  and  the 
ladder  shook.  Its  upper  end  slipped  and  a  noise  below 
indicated  that  the  fireman  had  fallen  off. 

"  Pancho,  Panchito !  "  he  shouted.  "  Come  out  and 
help,  little  parrot !  " 

Marston  heard  the  engineer  clatter  across  the  iron 
platforms  and  cross  the  deck.  So  far  as  Marston  could 
understand,  his  remarks  were  grossly  rude,  but  the 
other  interrupted : 

"  What  is  a  small  bottle  of  can  a  to  a  fireman?  It  is 
the  ladder  that  is  drunk.  If  you  will  not  hold  it,  little 
parrot,  I  must  sleep  in  the  cold." 

To  judge  by  the  noise  they  made,  Pancho  seized  the 
ladder  while  the  other  scrambled  up.  He  jumped  on 
deck,  laughing  boisterously,  a  door  shut,  and  when  the 
men's  feet  rattled  on  the  platform  bars  in  the  engine- 
room  Marston  crawled  across  the  deck.  He  found  the 
top  of  the  ladder,  but  had  only  gone  down  a  few  steps 


THE  TUG  267 

when  it  slipped  across  the  side  and  threw  him  off. 
Although  he  did  not  fall  far,  the  ladder  struck  the 
ground  with  a  crash  and  he  lay  down  in  the  gloom 
under  the  tug's  bilge. 

After  waiting  for  a  few  moments  he  saw  the  others 
were  not  coming  back  on  deck,  and  he  got  up  and  stole 
along  the  slip.  Crossing  the  mole  with  a  few  quick 
steps,  he  climbed  the  parapet  and  dropped  to  the  stones 
on  the  other  side.  When  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards 
along  the  beach  he  whistled  softly,  and  although  the 
gravel  rolled  about  in  the  languid  surf  heard  Wynd- 
ham's  answer.  Then  the  gig's  white  hull  appeared  in- 
distinctly among  the  streaks  of  foam,  and  he  plunged 
into  the  backwash  as  a  wave  recoiled.  Seizing  the 
gig's  bow,  he  pushed  her  off  and  got  on  board  while 
Wyndham  sculled  her  round.  For  two  or  three  min- 
utes they  let  her  drift  off-shore;  and  then  stepped  the 
mast  and  hoisted  sail. 

"Well?"  said  Wyndham.  "Did  you  find  the 
tug?" 

Marston  related  his  adventures  and  added:  "  I  ex- 
pect they'll  float  her  off  next  tide,  but  some  of  the  small 
jobs  I  noted  would  hardly  be  finished.  Then  she'll 
have  to  coal,  fill  her  tanks,  and  get  up  steam.  In  fact, 
I  don't  imagine  she  could  start  until  sometime  after 
dark  to-morrow.  Five  or  six  lighters  were  lying  near 
the  slip." 

"  She'll  no  doubt  bring  them  across,"  said  Wynd- 
ham thoughtfully.  "  I  expect  the  skipper  will  go 
half-speed  across  the  bay.  Well,  suppose  she  arrives 
in  the  morning?  The  sea-breeze  will  freshen  as  the 
sun  gets  high,  and  towing  the  loaded  boats  would  be 
dangerous  in  broken  water ;  perhaps  we  can  take  it  for 


268  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

granted  the  troops  won't  leave  until  it's  dark.  At 
night  they'd  get  smooth  water,  because  the  wind's  off 
the  land.  This  means  we  have  about  forty-eight 
hours'  warning.  But  slack  the  jib  sheet  a  little.  Our 
first  job's  to  get  on  board  by  daybreak." 

As  they  opened  up  the  bay  the  sea  got  rougher,  but 
the  wind  was  on  the  gig's  quarter  and  they  let  her  go. 
She  rolled  on  the  angry  combers  and  the  boom  that 
stretched  the  lugsail's  foot  tossed  up.  If  she  fell  off 
much  and  the  sail  lurched  across,  the  shock  would  cap- 
size her  or  carry  away  the  mast.  Wyndham,  however, 
held  her  straight  and  she  drove  on,  with  curling  foam 
piled  about  her  side.  It  was  a  wild  run  and  they  were 
glad  when  they  got  near  the  land  again  and  found  shel- 
ter. The  sea  was  smooth  now,  and  the  breeze  mod- 
erate, although  it  blew  in  gusts  that  heeled  the  boat 
and  set  the  water  splashing  against  her  planks.  Once 
or  twice  Wyndham  made  Marston  strike  a  match  and 
look  at  his  watch. 

"  We  may  get  in,  but  we  have  not  much  time  to 
spare,"  he  said  at  length. 

The  breeze  fell  and  the  boat  rose  nearly  upright. 
Marston  put  out  an  oar  and  began  to  pull,  for  when  he 
looked  east  the  sky  was  getting  pale.  The  gig  was 
sailing,  but  the  splash  at  the  bows  was  faint  and  at 
times  the  canvas  hung  slack.  Half  an  hour  afterwards 
they  pulled  down  the  mast  and  Wyndham  took  the 
other  oar. 

"  A  steady  stroke !  Don't  force  the  pace.  But  you 
have  got  to  row !  "  he  said. 

The  need  for  speed  was  plain.  The  eastern  sky  was 
clearing  and  the  mist  began  to  roll  back  from  the  coast. 
Marston  saw  a  belt  of  surf  and  shadowy  rocks  and 


THE  TUG  269 

woods.  Ahead,  a  light  marked  the  harbor  mouth,  but 
it  was  some  distance  off  and  the  gig  was  a  heavy  boat 
for  two  men  to  row.  Yet  they  must  reach  port  before 
day  broke,  and,  gasping  and  straining,  they  labored  on. 
After  his  hasty  glance  about,  Marston  saw  nothing  but 
Wyndham's  back,  swinging  to  and  fro  in  front  with  a 
regularity  that  he  must  emulate.  He  felt  the  bow  lift 
as  he  dragged  the  heavy  oar  through  the  water;  then 
there  was  a  faint  gurgle,  and  his  heart  beat  as  he  swung 
forward  again.  His  hands  blistered  and  the  sweat 
ran  into  his  eyes. 

At  length,  Wyndham  said  something  hoarsely  and 
a  high  wall,  washed  by  languid  surf,  rose  above  the 
boat.  They  were  entering  the  harbor,  but  Marston 
dared  not  turn  to  look  ahead.  The  light  was  growing 
and  the  wall  would  guide  them  to  Columbine.  He 
must  not  miss  a  stroke,  because  the  port-guard  might 
be  able  to  see  them  now.  Three  or  four  minutes  after- 
wards, Wyndham  stopped  rowing  and  said,  "  Easy  1 
Let  her  go !  " 

Marston  fell  forward  with  his  oar  and  fought  for 
breath.  His  heart  beat  like  a  hammer,  his  arms  and 
legs  trembled,  and  he  felt  he  had  not  strength  to  lift 
his  head.  Then  the  end  of  his  oar  struck  something 
and  they  were  alongside  Columbine.  Rousing  himself 
with  an  effort,  he  leaned  out  and  seized  a  rope.  Wynd- 
ham got  up  and  began  to  lift  the  mast. 

"  Find  the  compass  and  lantern ;  then  help  me  put 
the  gear  on  board,"  he  said. 

When  the  gig  was  empty  of  all  but  the  oars  they 
got  over  the  schooner's  rail  and  pulled  off  their  wet 
clothes.  In  the  tropics,  white  men,  as  a  rule,  do  not 
bathe  in  cold  water,  but  the  galley  fire  was  not  lighted 


270  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

and  Wyndham  filled  a  bucket  over  the  side.  The  cool 
brine  braced  them,  and  going  to  the  cabin,  they  began 
to  take  out  dry  clothes.  Wyndham,  however,  stopped, 
as  if  listening,  and  Marston  heard  the  splash  of  oars. 

"  Pyjamas,  I  think,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Some- 
body's coming." 

As  they  put  on  their  pyjamas  the  oars  stopped  close 
by  and  a  man  shouted. 

"  One  of  us  will  be  enough,"  Wyndham  resumed. 
"  Look  as  sleepy  as  you  can." 

Marston  went  up,  with  his  pyjamas  half  buttoned, 
and  leaned  on  the  rail.  It  was  daylight,  for  on  the 
Caribbean  dawn  comes  swiftly  at  about  six  o'clock. 
A  boat  carrying  two  men  in  the  port-guards'  uniform 
floated  a  few  yards  off.  Marston  thought  they  were 
looking  at  the  gig,  and  he  waited  in  keen  suspense. 

"  A  note  from  Senor  Larrinaga,"  said  one. 

"  Don  Ramon  gets  up  early,"  Marston  remarked 
with  a  yawn,  and  when  the  man  gave  him  the  note 
added :  "  Wait  a  minute." 

Opening  the  envelope  he  went  to  the  cabin  and  said 
to  Wyndham,  "  We  are  asked  to  breakfast  at  the  mis- 
sion and  see  the  soldiers  parade.  I  imagine  we're  ex- 
pected to  stop  the  day.  Don  Ramon  is  sending  horses ; 
they'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Well,"  said  Wyndham,  "  I  suppose  we  must  go." 

Marston  gave  the  men  a  bottle  of  cana  and  sent  them 
off.  Then  he  went  back  and  sat  down  limply. 

"If  we  had  been  ten  minutes  longer,  they'd  have 
found  us  out,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  feel  up  to  riding  far, 
and  their  asking  us  to  the  mission  now  is  awkward. 
Still  I  expect  we  couldn't  sail  until  it's  dark.  It's  lucky 
we  got  our  clearance  papers." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AT    THE    MISSION 

HALF  an  hour  after  the  boat  pulled  away,  Mars- 
ton  and  Wyndham  mounted  the  horses  Larri- 
naga  had  sent.  The  mission  was  some  distance  off,  but 
breakfast  would  not  be  served  until  about  eleven 
o'clock  and  they  rode  slowly  up  the  hill  behind  the 
town.  Two  soldiers  followed  thirty  or  forty  yards 
in  the  rear,  but  Marston  had  found  out  that  they  knew 
no  English.  Wyndham  was  quiet  and  preoccupied. 

"  The  horses  are  the  best  I've  seen,  and  I  suppose 
Don  Ramon's  sending  an  escort  is  something  of  a  com- 
pliment," Marston  said  presently.  "  We  are  going  to 
the  mission  like  honored  guests ;  I  don't  know  about  our 
coming  back.  Yet  we  must  get  back  to-night." 

"  We  calculated  the  tug  would  sail  with  the  light- 
ers to-morrow  after  dark  and  we  need  twenty-four 
hours'  start,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  It  ought  to  be 
enough,  if  the  breeze  is  strong;  landing  the  troops  will 
be  a  long  job.  However,  we  must  not  be  late." 

Marston  agreed.  Larrinaga  was  using  every  pre- 
caution to  keep  the  dispatch  of  the  expedition  secret, 
and  no  doubt  hoped  to  surprise  the  Bat.  If  they  were 
too  late,  they  might  be  captured  with  him.  If,  how- 
ever, they  brought  him  warning  long  enough  before- 
hand, he  might  make  a  stubborn  defense,  and  this 
would  involve  them  in  fresh  entanglements. 

"  I'd  feel  happier  if  I  knew  the  President's  plans  for 

to-day,"  Marston  resumed. 

271 


272  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Wyndham,  smiling.  "  I  imag- 
ine they  will,  to  some  extent,  depend  on  the  line  we 
take.  On  the  whole,  his  object  for  sending  for  us  is 
plain ;  he  wants  to  keep  us  away  from  the  port  as  long 
as  possible." 

"  If  he  thought  we  were  spying  for  the  Bat,  he  might 
lock  us  up." 

"  I  think  not.  He  would  then  have  to  inform  the 
consul  and  state  the  grounds  for  our  arrest.  All  the 
same,  if  he's  not  satisfied,  he  may  tax  us  with  cheating 
the  customs  or  something  of  the  kind  and  keep  us  until 
the  tug  has  sailed.  In  the  meantime,  perhaps  it's  lucky 
we  are  not  about  the  port,  because  I  think  Peters  won't 
offer  his  help  to  the  Government  until  he  has  seen  us. 
If  Larrinaga  knew  what  Peters  knows,  we  wouldn't 
reach  the  lagoon." 

"  I  expect  that  is  so,"  said  Marston  gloomily. 
"  Well,  it  will  be  a  big  relief  when  all  this  intrigue  is 
done  with  and  we  leave  the  coast  for  good." 

For  the  most  part  they  were  silent  until  they  reached 
the  mission.  The  building  was  old  and  falling  to  ruin, 
but  it  had  a  touch  of  stateliness,  for  its  foundations 
were  laid  when  the  Spanish  conquerors  were  influenced 
by  the  austere  beauty  of  Moorish  art.  The  front  was 
pierced  by  Saracenic  arches  that  led  to  a  cloistered  walk 
on  one  side  of  the  patio,  from  which  an  outside  stair 
went  up  to  the  officers'  rooms.  The  rest  of  the  build- 
ing was  plainer  and  was  now  used  for  a  barracks. 
Palms  grew  round  the  square  in  front  and  in  the  back- 
ground dusky  forest  rolled  back  to  the  mountains  that 
cut  the  sky.  Two  or  three  companies  of  cazadores 
were  drawn  up  in  the  square. 

The  President  and  Larrinaga  received  their  guests  at 


AT  THE  MISSION  273 

the  central  arch,  where  chairs  had  been  put  in  the 
shade.  There  was  another  gentleman,  whom  \Yynd- 
ham  imagined  belonged  to  the  President's  cabinet,  and 
he  thought  the  minister  quietly  studied  him  and  Mars- 
ton.  It  was  possible  Senor  Villar  had  joined  the  party 
with  this  object.  If  so,  it  looked  as  if  the  others  had 
not  yet  decided  if  they  were  dangerous  or  not. 

"  Xow  you  have  arrived,  we  will  go  on  with  the 
drill,"  the  President  remarked.  "  Afterwards,  Senor 
Marston  will  tell  us  what  he  thinks  about  my  soldiers." 

"  My  opinion  is  not  worth  much ;  I  am  a  sailor," 
Marston  replied  with  some  awkwardness,  because  he 
thought  the  President  was  amused. 

"  You  are  modest,"  the  latter  rejoined.  "  Well,  we 
cannot  ask  what  you  think  about  our  fleet.  Our  gun- 
boat, the  Campeador,  has  stranded,  and  this  only  leaves 
us  the  tug." 

"  I  have  seen  the  tug,"  said  Marston,  and  stopping 
for  a  moment,  went  on :  "A  very  fine  boat !  She 
looks  powerful  and  ought  to  steam  fast." 

Wyndham  wondered  whether  the  others  had  noted 
Marston's  pause.  It  was  not  long  and  perhaps  his 
frank  admission  would  satisfy  them. 

"  Let  us  try  to  turn  kilometers  into  what  you  call 
knots,"  said  the  President.  "  It  is  a  complicated  sum ; 
you  must  help  me,  Don  Ramon." 

"  About  twelve  knots,"  Wyndham  interposed  when 
they  began  the  calculation.  "  However,  you  must  not 
indulge  my  comrade  by  letting  him  talk  about  ships. 
We  came  to  see  the  soldiers." 

The  President  signed  to  an  officer,  who  shouted,  and 
the  cazadorcs  wheeled  and  formed  on  a  new  front. 
The  bands  and  muzzles  of  their  rifles  sparkled  in  the 


274  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

searching  light  and  dust  rolled  about  them  as  they 
moved.  They  were  little,  wiry  men,  and  although  they 
did  not  drill  remarkably  well  and  their  white  uniforms 
were  not  clean,  Wyndham  noted  that  their  rifles  were 
good.  Moreover,  their  equipment  was  up  to  date  and 
new. 

The  officer,  shouting  savagely,  kept  the  men  mov- 
ing about,  and  when  at  length  he  dismissed  them  came 
back,  hot  and  sprinkled  by  dust,  with  a  look  of  disgust. 
Wyndham,  allowing  something  for  the  German  char- 
acter, thought  the  disgust  was  rather  marked. 

"Then  you  are  not  satisfied  yet?"  the  President 
asked. 

"  They  are  your  Excellency's  subjects,"  the  other 
replied  with  a  shrug.  "  I  do  my  best,  but  we  do  not 
make  much  progress.  Perhaps,  with  extra  drill  for 
two  or  three  months " 

The  President  laughed.  "  One  must  use  patience, 
and  in  this  country  one  goes  slowly.  Besides,  I  do  not 
know  if  speed  is  needed."  He  turned  to  Wyndham. 
"  Now  we  will  leave  you  to  Don  Arnoldo  for  a  few 
minutes.  I  promised  Senor  Villar  I  would  examine 
the  quartermaster's  books.  There  are  people  who 
grumble  about  our  military  extravagance." 

He  went  off  with  the  others  and  the  officer  sat  down. 
•Wyndham  imagined  him  a  soldier  of  fortune  whose 
main  object  was  to  earn  his  pay.  For  all  that,  it 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  given  a  part  in  the  plot  and 
had  played  up  well. 

"  I  expect  you  find  drilling  these  fellows  a  tiresome 
job,"  Marston  said  in  English. 

"  It  is  so,"  the  other  agreed.  "  The  President  is  too 
ambitious;  I  think  he  wastes  his  money.  His  people 


AT  THE  MISSION  275 

have  no  military  feeling;  they  are  stupid  individualists 
and  one  cannot  give  them  mass-consciousness.  One 
might  make  them  brigands,  but  not  soldiers.  Yet  I 
think  they  would  fight,  and  after  all,  the  best  school  for 
soldiers  is  war." 

"  You  don't  want  a  war  for  the  sake  of  drilling  your 
men ! ''  Marston  exclaimed,  and  the  officer  laughed. 

"  In  my  country,  we  are  no  longer  sentimentalists 
and  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  humanitarian.  In  the  mean- 
time, there  is  no  war,  and  I  am  satisfied  to  draw  my 
pay.  Playing  with  soldiers  is  expensive,  and  some  of 
the  people  grumble,  but  so  far  the  pay  is  regular. 
When  it  stops  I  give  up  my  post." 

Soon  afterwards,  the  President  came  back  and 
breakfast  was  served  behind  the  pillars.  For  a  time 
he  talked  to  Marston  about  the  soldiers  and  then  re- 
marked :  "  I  understand  you  do  not  stop  long." 

"  Our  business  is  nearly  finished  and  we  expect  to 
sail  very  soon,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  Now  our  visit 
to  the  coast  is  over,  I  feel  there  is  much  for  which  we 
must  thank  you  and  Don  Ramon." 

"  We  hope  your  visit  has  been  prosperous  enough 
to  bring  you  back,"  Villar  interposed.  '  You  paid  us 
some  duties.  All  foreigners  are  not  so  honest." 

"  I  expect  foreigners  are  something  of  a  nuisance. 
It  is  strange,  but  when  one  goes  abroad  one  feels  justi- 
fied in  breaking  rules." 

Villar  smiled.  "This  is  illogical.  Have  you 
broken  our  rules?  " 

"  Not  many ;  my  partner  is  scrupulous,  and  if  I 
have  given  way  to  temptation,  it  was  not  from  greed- 
iness." 

"  Then  what  persuaded  you?  " 


276  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  Perhaps  it  was  British  impatience  with  other  peo- 
ple's regulations.  In  a  way,  we  are  rather  an  arro- 
gant lot,  and  it  flatters  our  self-importance  to  know 
that  if  we  do  get  into  trouble  our  Consuls  will  prob- 
ably save  us  from  the  punishment  we  deserve.  You 
cannot  lock  up  a  drunken  British  sailor  without  in- 
quiries being  made.  Don  Arnoldo's  people  are  proud 
of  their  army,  but  our  fleet  is  ubiquitous." 

"  Senor  Wyndham  is  frank,  although  I  doubt  if  he 
is  just  to  himself,"  the  President  remarked  with  a  twin- 
kle. "  I  will  confess  it  is  sometimes  hard  to  bear  with 
foreigners  philosophically,  but  we  make  the  effort. 
My  country  is  poor  and  we  need  the  trade  and  money 
they  bring.  If  we  do  not  always  love  them,  we  make 
allowances."  He  paused  and  gave  Wyndham  a 
thoughtful  glance.  "  There  is,  however,  one  thing 
about  which  we  are  firm ;  no  stranger  must  meddle 
with  our  politics.  It  is  our  Monroe  doctrine  and  is 
sternly  enforced." 

"  A  good  rule,"  Wyndham  agreed.  "  After  all, 
your  people  do  not  need  much  help  from  strangers; 
they  have  some  talent  for  political  intrigue.  How 
many  antagonistic  parties  have  you  just  now?  " 

"  Six,"  said  the  President  dryly.  "  They  hate  each 
other,  but  to  gain  an  advantage  all  will  combine  against 
my  Government.  Moreover,  in  this  country,  the  vote 
is  not  the  only  way  of  marking  one's  disapproval.  But 
we  will  let  this  go.  You  will  stop  with  us  to-night  and 
Don  Ramon  will  give  you  some  shooting  when  the 
evening  gets  cool." 

WVndham  thought  quickly.  He  had  expected  some- 
thing like  this  and  it  was  obvious  that  much  depended 
on  his  reply. 


AT  THE  MISSION  277 

"  We  ought  to  go  back,"  he  said,  with  pretended  hes- 
itation. '  You  see,  we  want  to  sail  as  soon  as  the 
wind  is  fair  and  must  get  water  and  stores  on  board. 
It  might,  however,  help  if  you  would  let  us  leave  port 
at  night.  The  land-breeze  would  carry  us  some  dis- 
tance off  the  coast  before  it  dropped  when  the  sun  got 
up." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Larrinaga.  "  I  will  send  the 
port-captain  orders,  and  if  you  tell  him  when  you  want 
to  sail  he  will  let  you  go." 

Wyndham  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and 
soon  afterwards  the  President  went  off  and  Larrinaga 
took  them  to  a  shady  room.  He  said  dinner  would  be 
served  at  four  o'clock  and  then  they  would  go  to  a 
lake  and  shoot.  When  he  left  them  Marston  looked  at 
Wyndham. 

"  Why  did  you  agree  to  stop  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  there  was  much  use  in  refusing. 
Their  urging  us  to  stop  was  an  experiment.  If  I  had 
insisted  on  going,  they'd  have  known  why." 

"Then,  d'you  imagine  they'd  keep  us  by  force?" 
asked  Marston. 

"  It's  possible.  I  studied  the  President  when  I  made 
my  boast  about  our  British  citizenship.  He  stated  they 
would  allow  no  meddling  with  their  politics,  and  he 
meant  this.  Anyhow,  if  I'd  shown  him  his  suspicions 
were  well-grounded,  he  would  have  found  a  plausible 
excuse  for  keeping  Columbine  in  port." 

"  All  the  same,  we  have  got  to  get  away,"  said  Mars- 
ton  in  a  resolute  voice. 

Wyndham  nodded.  "That's  plain.  Well,  if  we 
go  to  bed  soon  after  shooting  and  are  lucky,  they  won't 
miss  us  until  somebody  brings  our  early  breakfast.  I 


278  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

don't  know  if  we  can  get  the  horses.  Now  I'm  going 
to  sleep." 

He  got  into  a  hammock  and  Marston  lay  down  in  a 
long  chair.  They  had  been  strenuously  occupied  all 
night  and  did  not  expect  much  rest  the  next.  Nobody 
would  bother  them  until  dinner,  and  although  they 
were  disturbed  and  anxious  they  went  to  sleep. 

After  dinner  Larrinaga  took  them  to  a  lake,  where 
they  shot  some  ducks.  The  President  was  occupied 
when  they  returned  at  dark,  and  for  a  time  they  sat 
on  the  arcade,  playing  cards.  The  cards  were  Spanish 
and  Marston  could  not  remember  their  value  and  the 
rules  of  the  game.  Mosquitoes  hovered  about  them, 
the  night  was  gloomy  and  very  hot.  Something  in  the 
still  air  made  one  strangely  languid.  Moreover,  he 
was  tired  and  anxious,  and  he  did  not  feel  much  relief 
when  Villar  put  the  cards  away  and  they  began  to  talk. 

Marston  suspected  the  others'  remarks  were  not  as 
careless  as  they  looked  and  might  lead  him  to  some 
awkward  statements.  It  was  like  fencing  with  a  clever 
antagonist  when  all  one  could  do  was  to  stand  clumsily 
on  guard.  For  the  most  part,  he  left  the  talk  to  Wynd- 
ham,  and  although  Harry  played  up  well,  Marston 
thought  the  effort  was  difficult.  He  wondered  whether 
their  companions  saw  this.  There  was  one  comfort; 
in  the  tropics,  people  got  up  early  and  he  imagined 
their  hosts  would  not  sit  very  long. 

At  length  Larrinaga  pushed  back  his  chair.  "  Time 
goes  and  my  duties  begin  at  sunrise.  Then  I  think 
you  would  like  to  make  an  early  start  ?  " 

Wyndham  said  they  must  get  off  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  Larrinaga  nodded. 

"  Don  Arnoldo  will  give  the  necessary  orders  about 


AT  THE  MISSION  279 

the  horses.  They  belong  to  the  soldiers  and  nobody 
else  is  allowed  about  the  stable.  I  believe  he  posts  a 
guard  at  night.  The  Germans  are  like  that,  and  the 
mission  is  now  under  military  rule.  It  has  drawbacks, 
Ixit  the  army  is  the  President's  hobby  and  we  submit." 

The  officer  laughed  and  said  the  horses  would  be 
ready  soon  after  daybreak,  and  when  the  others  went 
off  Marston  and  Wyndham  climbed  the  outside  stairs 
to  their  room. 

"  Looks  as  if  they  meant  to  keep  us.  Don  Ramon's 
hint  was  plain."  Marston  observed. 

"  It's  lucky  white  men  don't  walk  much  in  this  coun- 
try," Wyndham  replied.  "  A  pascar  round  the  plaza 
while  the  band  plays  is  about  all  the  exercise  people 
take,  and  I  don't  imagine  anybody  above  the  rank  of 
a  peon  has  ever  walked  from  the  mission  to  the  port. 
In  fact,  it's  very  possible  Don  Ramon  hasn't  calculated 
that  we  might  set  off  on  foot."  He  paused  and  went 
to  the  window.  "  The  night's  dark  but  very  calm.  A 
noise  would  carry;  we  must  wait  for  some  time." 


CHAPTER  IX 

COLUMBINE    STEALS    AWAY 

ALL  was  quiet  at  the  mission  but  for  the  soft  rus- 
tle of  the  palms  when  a  puff  of  wind  came  down 
the  hill.  The  last  light  had  gone  out  behind  the  nar- 
row windows  across  the  patio,  and  Wyndham,  look- 
ing at  his  watch,  got  up. 

"  We  must  chance  it  now,"  he  said.  "If  all  goes 
well,  we  ought  to  reach  the  port  two  or  three  hours 
before  dawn  and  our  hosts  won't  miss  us  until  the 
major-domo  sends  our  breakfast." 

Marston  pulled  himself  together.  The  port  was  a 
long  way  off  and  since  he  had  left  England  he  had 
not  walked  much,  but  it  was  obvious  that  he  must 
make  good  speed  to-night.  Opening  the  door  quietly, 
they  stole  downstairs,  carrying  their  boots,  and  stopped 
for  a  few  moments  in  the  gloom  of  an  arch.  It  was 
very  dark ;  the  palms  across  the  square  hardly  showed 
against  the  sky.  There  was  a  sentry  on  the  terrace, 
but  they  could  not  see  him  and  waited  until  they  heard 
his  measured  steps. 

When  the  sentry  passed  the  arch,  they  crept  out  and 
started  across  the  square.  Small  stones  hurt  their  feet, 
but  they  went  on  as  fast  as  possible,  until  they  heard  a 
soft  rattle  of  leather  and  jingle  of  steel.  The  sentry 
had  wheeled  round  at  the  end  of  his  beat  and  was  com- 
ing back,  and  they  lay  down  on  the  sand  and  waited  un- 
til the  steps  receded.  They  must  reach  the  gloom  of 
the  trees  before  he  turned  again,  and  they  pushed  on, 

280 


COLUMBINE  STEALS  AWAY         281 

listening  hard.  Marston's  heart  beat  and  his  hands 
trembled  as  he  clutched  his  boots.  The  measured  steps 
stopped  for  a  moment  and  then  began  to  get  louder, 
but  Bob  drew  a  deep  breath  when  he  distinguished  the 
long  branches  of  the  palms  overhead.  Nobody  could 
see  him  now. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  they  set  off  down  hill  at 
the  fastest  pace  they  could  make.  The  road  was 
rough,  one  could  not  see  the  holes,  and  Marston  was 
soon  wet  with  perspiration.  He  had  got  soft  in  the 
tropics  and  his  legs  began  to  ache,  but  he  thought  he 
was  going  nearly  five  miles  an  hour.  Since  time  was 
valuable,  he  must  try  to  keep  it  up.  He  had  no  breath 
to  talk  and  Wyndham  said  nothing;  with  clenched 
hands  and  eyes  fixed  straight  in  front  they  labored  on. 
Half-seen  palms  went  by,  but  in  places  the  gloom  was 
impenetrable,  and  now  and  then  they  fell  into  a  hole. 

By-and-by  Marston's  boot  began  to  gall  his  foot. 
The  smart  got  worse  and  sometimes  he  limped.  When 
he  did  so,  he  dropped  behind  Wyndham,  and  setting 
his  mouth  tight  he  trod  squarely.  One  could  not  walk 
fast  on  the  side  of  one's  foot ;  he  must  push  on  and  bear 
the  pain.  It  was  ridiculous  that  he  should  lose  time 
because  his  boot  scraped  his  toe.  Yet  long  afterwards 
he  remembered  the  effort  to  keep  up  his  speed. 

When  the  first  white  houses  of  the  town  came  out 
of  the  gloom  his  clothes  were  sticking  to  his  skin  and 
his  wet  hair  was  flat  on  his  head.  He  stopped  and 
sat  down  in  a  dusty  gutter. 

"  I've  got  to  take  off  my  boots.  There's  a  pave- 
ment of  sorts,"  he  gasped. 

\Vyndham  nodded  and  looked  about.  The  houses 
were  indistinct  and  the  sky  was  dark.  He  could  not 


282  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

see  his  watch,  but  he  calculated  it  was  about  four 
o'clock  and  day  would  not  break  for  two  hours  yet. 
Puffs  of  wind  touched  his  wet  face  and  he  heard  it  in 
the  trees  behind  the  town.  They  were  in  time,  but 
had  none  to  waste. 

"  Be  quick !  "  he  said.  "  We're  a  mile  from  the  har- 
bor." 

Marston  got  up  and  they  set  off.  Straight  and 
nearly  blank  walls  now  shut  them  in,  for  the  houses 
got  light  from  the  patios.  Wyndham's  steps  echoed 
in  the  dark,  but  except  for  this  all  was  quiet.  It  looked 
as  if  nobody  were  about.  A  strange  smell  hung  about 
the  houses,  for  the  street  was  narrow  and  the  land- 
breeze  did  not  sweep  it  clean. 

By-and-by  they  crossed  a  square  and  kept  back  from 
a  lamp  at  the  end  of  another  street.  To  meet  one  of 
the  armed  police  would  be  awkward,  for  although  the 
fellow's  curiosity  might  be  appeased  by  a  bribe,  to  per- 
suade him  would  occupy  some  time.  They  met  no- 
body, but  after  some  minutes  Wyndham  thought  it  pru- 
dent to  cross  the  alameda,  where  shady  paths  wound 
among  tall  trees.  The  gloom  would  hide  them  and 
from  one  end  a  dark  street  ran  down  to  the  harbor. 
Marston  agreed  and  set  his  lips  as  he  struggled  on,  for 
the  walks  were  covered  by  sharp,  fresh  gravel.  Steal- 
ing along  the  dark  street,  they  reached  the  mole  and 
stopped  for  a  moment.  So  far  as  they  could  see,  the 
tug  had  not  arrived,  and  although  they  distinguished 
Columbine's  masts  against  the  sky,  she  was  moored  to 
a  buoy  some  distance  from  the  wall.  Wyndham  had 
warned  the  crew  to  keep  a  watch,  but  there  was  a  risk 
in  hailing  them. 


COLUMBINE  STEALS  AWAY         283 

"  One  of  the  port-guards  is  generally  about  this  side 
of  the  harbor,"  he  said. 

They  listened,  but  only  heard  the  sea  splash  against 
the  wall  and  the  wind  in  a  neighboring  vessel's  rigging. 
The  land-breeze  was  fresh  and  blew  down  the  har- 
bor. If  they  could  get  on  board,  it  would  not  be  long 
before  Columbine  was  at  sea. 

"  We  might  swim,"  Marston  suggested. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Wyndham.  "  There's  a  nasty, 
splashing  ripple  that  would  break  in  our  faces ;  besides, 
the  gig  would  be  quicker.  We  must  chance  a  hail." 

He  shouted  and  Marsten  clenched  his  fist  when  no 
answer  came.  It  was  unthinkable  that  they  should  be 
stopped  by  the  negligence  of  a  sleepy  look-out.  Before 
long  the  port-guard  would  walk  up  the  mole,  and  if 
they  were  not  gone,  would  take  them  to  the  captain's 
office.  One  must  get  leave  to  go  on  board,  because 
the  port  was  closed  at  night. 

They  waited  for  two  or  three  minutes,  since  Wynd- 
ham dared  not  shout  again,  and  then  a  soft  rattle  came 
out  of  the  dark.  Marston  started  and  thrilled. 

"  I  believe  that's  somebody  jumping  into  the  gig," 
he  said. 

"  It  is,"  said  Wyndham  softly,  and  after  a  few  mo- 
ments added:  "  She's  coming." 

They  could  not  see  the  boat  and  she  made  very  little 
noise.  There  was  no  splash;  it  looked  as  if  somebody 
sculled  her  cautiously.  By  and  by  a  dark  object  glided 
out  of  the  gloom  beside  the  wall  and  they  went  to  the 
steps. 

"  Go  back  softly,  softly,"  Wyndham  said  to  the  in- 
distinct figure  in  the  stern  as  they  got  on  board. 


284  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the  schooner  and 
Marston's  spirits  rose.  He  had  done  with  tracks  and 
plots;  now  his  job  was  straightforward.  Moreover, 
he  knew  it  well. 

"  I'll  cast  off  the  bow  mooring."  he  said  when  Wynd- 
ham  got  on  board.  "  Give  me  a  line  and  you  can  haul 
the  chain  up  quietly.  It  mustn't  run  through  the  pipe." 

Shoving  the  gig  forward,  he  jumped  out  on  the 
buoy ;  then  he  unscrewed  the  shackle  and,  fastening  on 
the  line  he  brought,  waved  his  hand.  The  chain  slipped 
gently  into  the  water  and  did  not  make  much  noise 
when  the  men  on  board  pulled  it  up.  Columbine  was 
free  now  and  had  begun  to  drift  when  Marston  seized 
her  rail.  He  made  the  gig's  painter  fast  and  left  her 
alongside,  because  the  blocks  on  the  Burton  tackle 
would  clatter  if  they  tried  to  hoist  her  in.  It  was  some- 
thing to  feel  the  schooner's  deck  under  his  galled  feet, 
but  there  was  much  to  be  done  before  he  could  indulge 
his  relief.  Although  they  could  not  see  the  tug,  she 
might  have  reached  the  port,  and  they  must  pass  the 
three-mile  limit  before  they  would  be  safe.  In  the 
meantime,  Columbine  was  drifting  slowly  down  the 
harbor. 

"  We  must  chance  hoisting  the  staysail,"  Wyndham 
remarked.  "Get  it  up  handsomely;  stop  if  the  chain 
clinks  much." 

The  staysail  had  chain  halyards  and  Marston  sent 
a  man  aloft  with  a  grease-swab.  For  all  that,  the  hal- 
yard made  some  noise  and  the  sail  thrashed  in  the  fresh 
breeze,  until  they  hauled  the  sheets  and  Wyndham  got 
her  round.  Columbine,  with  a  small  triangle  of  canvas 
set,  stole  down  the  harbor,  and  if  the  port-guards  did 
not  keep  a  keen  look  out,  she  might  get  away. 


COLUMBINE  STEALS  AWAY         285 

Marston,  sitting  on  the  bowsprit  loosing  the  jib, 
watched  the  shadowy  wall  move  back.  They  were 
passing  the  Cuban  barque  and  she  was  not  far  from 
the  end  of  the  mole.  Columbine  moved  faster;  he 
heard  the  water  ripple  at  her  bows,  and  the  beam  of 
the  lighthouse  ahead  got  near.  It  was  a  sector  light, 
screened  on  one  bearing,  and  they  could  keep  outside 
its  illumination. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  would  clear  the  end  of  the 
mole,  and  when  the  jib  was  loose  Marston  looked  aft. 
Shadowy  figures  moved  about  the  deck,  getting  the 
canvas  ready  to  hoist.  Not  long  since,  he  had  doubted 
if  they  could  steal  out  of  the  harbor.  When  one  stud- 
ied the  plan  coolly,  it  looked  ridiculous,  but  they  had 
tried  and  he  began  to  hope  they  would  succeed.  Then 
he  turned  his  head  and  thrilled  as  he  saw  the  end  of 
the  mole  slip  by. 

"  Hoist  the  outer  jib,"  said  Wyndham  when  Mars- 
ton  joined  him.  "  We  must  be  cautious.  The  cap- 
tain's launch  has  steam  up  and  could  catch  us  yet." 

They  got  to  work.  The  blocks  rattled  as  the  jib 
went  up,  but  the  wind  blew  the  noise  away.  The 
splash  at  the  bows  was  louder,  and  Wyndham  waited, 
measuring  the  distance  from  the  receding  mole. 

"  Boom-foresail,"  he  said  sharply. 

The  tall  dark  canvas  rose  and  swelled.  Columbine 
began  to  list  and  trailed  a  white  line  astern.  The  mole 
faded  and  the  light  looked  farther  off. 

"  Mainsail  next,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Hoist  hand- 
somely." 

The  winch  by  the  mast  began  to  clink ;  the  big  sail 
shook  and  thudded  while  its  slack  folds  blew  out,  and 
the  Kroos  started  a  wild  paddling  song.  The  tension 


286  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

was  over;  they  were  running  out  to  sea  and  nobody 
could  hear  them  now.  The  song,  however,  soon  got 
breathless;  it  was  hard  to  drag  up  the  heavy  canvas 
while  she  was  before  the  wind  and  Wyndham  would 
not  round  her  to.  He  braced  himself  against  the  wheel 
and  steered  off-shore  for  the  three-mile  limit. 

They  set  the  sail,  and  got  more  wind  as  they  left  the 
land.  She  rolled  and  foam  ran  level  with  her  dipping 
rail.  The  long  main  boom  lurched  up  and  groaned; 
one  heard  the  masts  creak  and  the  rigging  hum.  Her 
wake  ran  back  into  the  dark  like  a  white  cataract. 

"  Hoist  gaff-topsail,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Trim  the 
squaresail-yard." 

Marston  gave  him  a  quick  glance  and  then  got  to 
work.  He  doubted  if  the  gear  would  stand  the  strain, 
but  Harry  knew  the  boat.  Although  the  Krooboys 
looked  surprised,  it  was  obvious  that  they  trusted 
him.  It  cost  them  a  struggle  to  cover  her  with  sail, 
and  she  drove  along  almost  too  fast  to  roll.  A  white 
wave  stood  up  above  her  waist,  another  curled  astern, 
and  the  hollow  squaresail  swelled  like  a  balloon.  Al- 
though the  sea  was  smooth,  water  foamed  on  board  and 
spray  swept  the  deck  in  savage  showers.  The  men 
crouched  behind  the  bulwarks  and  when  Marston  went 
aft  he  got  an  exhilarating  sense  of  speed. 

"Do  you  want  help?"  he  asked.  "Can  you  hold 
her." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  said  Wyndham,  with  an  exultant 
note  in  his  voice.  "  We  have  sailed  some  hard  races, 
Bob,  but  none  for  a  stake  like  this.  If  the  masts  will 
stand,  she  must  go  to-night !  " 

Marston  nodded.  "Looks  as  if  we  ought  to  win! 
I  imagine  the  tug  is  not  in  harbor  and  Don  Ramon  is 


COLUMBINE  STEALS  AWAY        287 

comfortably  persuaded  we're  asleep  at  the  mission. 
When  he  finds  we're  not,  we'll  be  a  long  way  off.  I 
don't  suppose  they  can  march  the  troops  to  the  port 
and  embark  them  before  it's  dark."  He  paused  and 
laughed  when  he  resumed :  "  His  promise  to  send 
the  port-captain  orders  to  let  us  go  if  we  told  him  when 
we  wanted  to  sail  was  clever.  He  knew,  of  course,  we 
couldn't  do  so." 

He  sat  clown  on  a  coil  of  rope  and  lighted  his  pipe. 
Xow  the  long  strain  was  over,  a  reaction  had  begun. 
His  head  was  heavy;  he  felt  very  tired  and  limp. 
Showers  of  spray  blew  about  and  when  he  began  to 
get  wet  he  thought  he  would  go  to  the  cabin  and  study 
the  chart.  It  was  plain  that  they  could  not  leave  the 
schooner  at  the  lagoon ;  besides  a  little  mental  exercise 
might  rouse  him. 

When  he  lighted  the  lamp  he  found  he  could  not 
see  the  small  figures  on  the  chart.  His  eyes  and  brain 
were  dull,  for  two  nights  and  a  day  of  effort  and  sus- 
pense had  \vorn  him  out.  The  coast-line,  however, 
was  clearly  marked  and  indicated  a  number  of  bays  and 
inlets.  So  far  as  Marston  could  remember,  they  were 
bordered  by  mangrove  swamps  with  dark  forest  be- 
hind. Looking  up  at  the  compass,  which  was  fixed  in 
the  skylight  and  allowed  the  glow  of  the  binnacle  lamp 
to  shine  through,  he  tried  to  calculate  where  Wyndham 
was  steering.  He  could  not  fix  the  course  within  two 
or  three  points  and  presently  gave  it  up.  Then  his 
head  dropped  forward,  the  chart  fell  on  the  floor,  and 
sinking  down  on  the  locker  cushion,  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   BAT   OWNS   DEFEAT 

AT  daybreak  Wyndham  entered  the  cabin  and  wak- 
ened Marston.  The  latter  yawned,  stretched 
his  arms,  and  glanced  at  the  compass. 

"  It's  getting  light.  I  expect  I've  been  asleep,"  he 
said.  "Where  are  we  heading?" 

Wyndham  picked  up  the  chart  and  indicated  a  spot. 
"  This  bay.  She  has  made  a  good  run,  although  the 
wind  has  nearly  gone." 

"  You  know  where  to  find  the  Bat,  I  think?  " 

"  I  have  a  notion,"  Wyndham  replied,  indicating 
another  spot  some  distance  from  the  coast.  "  But 
come  up  on  deck.  The  sun  will  soon  rise  and  I  must 
try  to  get  our  bearings." 

Marston  went  up.  The  wind  had  dropped  and  was 
now  very  faint.  Columbine,  carrying  all  the  sail  they 
could  set,  scarcely  crept  across  the  smoothly  heaving 
sea.  Ahead,  a  bank  of  mist  hid  the  low  coast;  farther 
back,  vague  mountain  tops  rose  against  the  pale  sky. 
In  places,  rippling  streaks  lined  the  gray  water.  The 
picture  had  a  strangely  flat  and  lifeless  touch  that  re- 
acted on  Marston.  He  felt  dull,  and  shivered,  al- 
though it  was  not  cold.  Turning  to  the  galley,  he  saw 
a  plume  of  smoke  trail  from  the  bent  funnel. 

"  I'll  get  some  coffee  and  then  we'll  talk,"  he  said. 

Coming  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  jug,  he  sat 
down  on  the  stern-gratings. 


THE  BAT  OWNS  DEFEAT          289 

"  To  begin  with,  can  you  hide  the  boat?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  properly.  There  are  one  or  two  creeks,  but 
they'd,  so  to  speak,  invite  examination.  On  the  whole, 
I'd  sooner  trust  an  open  beach.  Columbine's  low  hull 
and  masts  won't  be  very  distinct  against  a  background 
of  forest.  I'm  steering  for  an  anchorage  behind  some 
.shoals." 

Marston  signed  agreement.  "  Larrinaga  can't  keep 
the  tug  searching  the  coast ;  he'll  send  her  back  for  sup- 
plies. I  expect  he  knows  how  to  reach  the  Bat." 

"  It's  possible.  He  has  spies  and  the  German  Colonel 
has,  no  doubt,  made  careful  plans.  There  are  two 
routes;  east  and  west  of  the  high  ground,  and  I 
reckon  he'll  send  the  cazadorcs  up  in  two  columns. 
The  first  will  probably  try  to  get  behind  the  Bat's  posi- 
tion." 

"  Then,  we'll  strike  one  column's  line  of  march," 
said  Marston,  thoughtfully.  "  In  fact,  since  we  must 
come  back,  we'll  strike  it  twice." 

"  Yes.  I  see  some  advantage  in  this.  Our  taking 
their  path  won't  matter  when  we  go  up,  because  we'll 
be  in  front,  and  we  agreed  that  the  time  of  our  arrival 
is  important.  We  must  give  the  Bat  just  long  enough 
to  reach  the  coast  before  the  soldiers  turn  back  and  cut 
us  off.  I  expect  it  will  mean  our  pushing  across  the 
hills  for  some  distance.  When  we  cross  their  line  we'll 
be  in  front  again." 

Marston  signified  his  agreement  by  a  nod.  It  was 
plain  that  they  must  leave  much  to  luck,  and  lighting 
his  pipe,  he  leaned  against  the  rail.  As  the  sun  rose 
the  mist  ahead  began  to  melt.  Wooded  heights  rose 
out  of  the  streaming  vapor  and  presently  Wyndham 
found  the  marks  he  wanted  and  went  off  to  sleep  while 


290  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Marston  kept  his  anxious  watch.  It  was  now  nearly 
calm.  Sometimes  a  puff  of  wind  ruffled  the  water; 
sometimes  the  sails  hung  slack  and  the  ripple  at  the 
bows  died  away.  The  sun  got  hot,  the  smooth  swell 
shimmered  with  reflected  light,  and  nothing  indicated 
when  the  sea-breeze  would  begin. 

The  calm,  however,  would  not  stop  the  tug,  and 
Marston  pictured  her  steaming  up  from  San  Cristobal 
with  engines  thumping  hard  and  the  empty  lighters 
astern.  News  of  Columbine's  departure  had,  no 
doubt,  reached  the  mission ;  bugles  would  be  calling 
and  the  cazadores  strapping  on  their  equipment  ready 
to  start.  Still  it  was  a  long  march  to  the  harbor  and 
Marston  hardly  thought  the  troops  would  embark  be- 
fore nightfall.  If  wind  would  come,  Wyndham  might 
keep  in  front  of  them,  but  in  the  meantime  Columbine 
hardly  moved.  Marston  wondered  whether  they  ought 
to  hoist  out  the  gig  and  tow,  although  the  labor  would 
be  exhausting  and  they  could  not  make  much  prog- 
ress. 

A  dark  streak  broke  the  glittering  surface,  a  cool 
draught  touched  Marston's  face,  and  the  slack  sails 
swelled.  Columbine  began  to  move,  and  presently 
gathering  speed,  listed  over  to  the  fresh  sea-breeze. 

After  an  hour  or  two,  he  wakened  Wyndham,  who 
got  another  bearing  and  changed  the  course.  At  dusk 
they  steered  for  the  coast  and  towards  morning  an- 
chored behind  a  shoal.  There  was  nothing  but  the 
background  to  hide  the  vessel  and  Marston  knew  the 
risk  when  they  landed  with  four  of  the  crew.  In  the 
steamy  heat  of  the  forest,  exertion  soon  wears  a  white 
man  out,  and  the  negroes  were  needed  to  carry  food 
and  some  shelter  from  the  dew  at  night. 


THE  BAT  OWNS  DEFEAT          291 

After  dark  on  the  second  evening,  they  reached  the 
Bat's  headquarters,  in  the  company  of  a  gang  of  sav- 
age negroes.  They  were  exhausted  by  the  journey, 
their  clothes  were  torn,  and  they  did  not  know  if  the 
negroes  were  their  captors  or  their  guides.  So  far  as 
one  could  see,  the  village  looked  mean.  A  few  small 
mud  huts  stood  among  mahogany  trees  and  big  cotton- 
woods.  There  was  no  light  in  the  huts,  but  a  fire 
burned  outside  one,  and  although  the  night  was  warm, 
indistinct  figures  crouched  about  the  blaze.  They  van- 
ished and  appeared  again  when  the  light  leaped  up,  and 
Marston  remembered  the  factory  boys  squatting  round 
the  fires  in  Africa.  But  the  Kroo  laborers  sang,  and 
these  fellows  were  strangely  silent.  In  fact,  a  daunt- 
ing quietness  brooded  over  the  spot. 

The  Bat's  hut  was  larger  than  the  rest  and  a  rude 
veranda  occupied  the  front.  There  was  no  furniture 
except  some  mats  and  stools,  and  a  badly-cleaned  par- 
affin lamp  gave  a  dim  light.  The  Bat  sat  on  a  carved 
stool  and  wore  a  striped  tennis  jacket  over  his  dirty 
white  clothes.  His  legs  and  feet  were  bare;  his  lips 
stuck  out  and  his  nostrils  were  wide,  and  Marston  felt 
that  to  fear  and  shrink  from  him  was  ridiculous.  Yet 
he  did  shrink.  Then  he  noted  with  some  surprise  that 
Father  Sebastian  occupied  a  mat  in  the  corner.  Next 
moment  the  Bat  looked  up  with  a  mocking  grin. 

"  Why  you  lib  for  my  village?  It  d —  poor  place," 
he  said. 

"  We'll  explain  that  later,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  In 
the  meantime,  why  is  Father  Sebastian  here?  " 

"  I  take  care  of  him,"  said  the  Bat.  "  Fool  black 
man  rob  his  church."  He  paused  and  added  with  a 
cruel  smile:  "  Them  fool  man  pay/' 


292  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

Wyndham  turned  to  the  priest.  "  Will  you  give  us 
a  few  minutes,  padre?  We  will  send  for  you  soon." 

Father  Sebastian  got  up  and  the  Bat  nodded,  as  if 
he  gave  him  leave  to  go.  He  went  out  and  Wynd- 
ham sat  down  on  a  mat. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  suppose  you  drop  this  negro  mum- 
mery and  talk  like  an  Englishman.  I  want  to  remem- 
ber you  are  Rupert  Wyndham.  No  doubt  you  meant 
to  keep  the  missionary  for  a  hostage,  but  it's  not  im- 
portant. I  imagine  you  did  not  expect  to  see  us?  " 

Rupert's  face  changed.  Something  of  its  coarseness 
vanished,  his  lips  straightened,  and  he  looked  less  like 
a  mulatto. 

"  I  did  expect  you.  Anyhow,  I  heard  white  men 
were  coming,  although  I  could  only  account  for  one," 
he  said  and  added  with  an  ominous  smile :  "  I  sent 
to  meet  you  because  I  did  not  want  you  to  lose  your 
way." 

Marston  knew  that  in  Africa  the  negroes  can  signal 
news  across  the  bush  with  remarkable  speed.  It  looked 
as  if  Rupert  had  learned  how  this  was  done  and  taught 
his  people. 

"  Whom  did  you  expect?  "  he  asked. 

"  Peters.  He  is  a  fool,  but  he  has  pluck.  Some 
pluck  is  needed  when  one  tries  to  blackmail  me !  " 

"  I  imagine  Peters  will  come  later,  but  not  to  bar- 
gain with  you,"  Marston  said  dryly.  "  We  have  some 
grounds  for  believing  he  means  to  sell  you  to  the  Gov- 
ernment." 

Rupert's  glance  got  very  keen.  "  Ah,"  he  said, 
"this  is  interesting!  Perhaps  it  explains  your  visit, 
which  rather  puzzled  me." 

"  Before  long  you  will  get  some  fresh  news,"  Wynd- 


THE  BAT  OWNS  DEFEAT          293 

ham  interposed.  "  Larrinaga  and  the  German  colonel, 
with  two  or  three  companies  of  cazadorcs,  have  landed 
and  are  marching  for  your  village." 

For  a  few  moments  Rupert  did  not  move  and  his 
face  was  inscrutable.  Then  he  looked  up  and  the  red 
veins  in  his  eyes  were  very  plain. 

"  Is  this  true  ?  You  will  find  it  dangerous  to  cheat 
me!" 

Wyndham  told  him  what  they  had  found  out  and 
stated  the  conclusions  they  had  drawn.  When  he 
stopped  Rupert  nodded. 

"  It  looks  plausible ;  you  are  cleverer  than  my  spies, 
but  we  will  wait.  If  the  soldiers  have  landed,  I  will 
soon  know." 

"  You  may  wait  too  long!  " 

"If  there's  a  risk,  you  share  it,"  said  Rupert  mean- 
ingly. "  You  were  rash  when  you  came  to  see  me 
without  being  asked.  However,  the  entrance  of  the 
lagoon  is  shallow  and  the  surf  is  often  bad.  Can 
Larrinaga  find  the  channel  ?  " 

"  Pepe,  the  pilot,  is  with  him.  I  expect  he'll  steer 
the  tug." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Rupert.  "  I  rather  trusted  Pepe,  but 
he  has  been  bribed.  Well,  it  is  possible  he  will  get  his 
reward.  However,  I  imagine  you  have  made  some 
plans  for  me." 

Wyndham  braced  himself.  Although  luck  had 
given  him  strong  arguments,  Rupert  was  bold  and 
cunning.  Since  his  situation  looked  desperate,  he 
might  try  some  desperate  remedy  that  would  ruin  them 
all.  He  must  be  persuaded  to  use  the  obvious  way  of 
escape. 

"  You  can't  fight;  it's  too  late,"  he  said.     "  If  you 


294  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

start  now  and  we  push  across  the  hills  between  the  two 
columns,  we  may  cross  one  detachment's  line  after 
they  have  passed.  When  they  find  out  you  have  gone, 
\ve  will  have  got  a  start  and  ought  to  travel  faster  than 
loaded  soldiers.  The  schooner  is  ready  and  would  sail 
in  a  few  minutes  after  we  got  on  board.  I  don't  see 
another  plan,  and  if  you're  caught  Larrinaga  will  shoot 
you.  His  men  are  well  equipped  and  drilled.  He  has 
been  getting  ready  for  some  time." 

Rupert  pondered  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  the  others 
waited  anxiously.  Then  he  said,  "  If  I  go,  I  leave 
people  who  trusted  me  in  Larrinaga's  power.  It  is 
not  a  very  heroic  exit." 

"  Does  this  count 'for  much?  " 

"  On  the  whole,  it  does  not,"  said  Rupert  coolly. 
"  After  all,  my  followers  can  take  care  of  themselves. 
They  are  an  elusive  lot  and  Don  Ramon  would  soon 
wear  out  his  troops  hunting  them  in  the  bush.  All  the 
same,  to  slink  away  is  something  of  an  anti-climax." 

"  We  didn't  run  a  big  risk  in  order  to  help  you  save 
your  dignity,"  Wyndham  rejoined,  and  Rupert  gave 
him  a  mocking  smile. 

"  Your  object's  plain  and  I  owe  you  nothing.  You 
hope  to  mend  the  family's  fortunes,  and  see  an  awk- 
ward chance  of  its  getting  known  that  a  leader  of  negro 
rebels  is  your  relation.  However,  what  do  you  reckon 
to  do  with  me  if  I  go?  You  proposed,  another  time, 
that  I  should  return  to  England." 

"  We  don't  propose  it  now.  We'll  land  you  at  an 
American  port  and  I  will  try  to  pay  you  a  small  allow- 
nnce  so  long  as  you  stay  in  the  United  States.  The 
South  might  suit  you  and  one  could  trust  the  Ameri- 
cans to  see  you  didn't  make  trouble  there." 


THE  BAT  O\VXS  DEFEAT          295 

"  For  guests,  you  take  a  bold  line.  It's  rather 
strange  you  imagine  I'm  forced  to  agree.  \  ou  don't 
seem  to  understand  that  there's  not  much  to  prevent 
my  leaving  you  here  and  going  off  with  your  yacht." 

"  We  thought  about  this,"  Wyndharn  replied.  "  If 
we  don't  return  by  a  stipulated  time,  Columbine  will 
sail  and  carry  a  statement  I  left  with  the  mate  to  the 
British  officers  at  Kingston,  Jamaica.  The  cable  is 
ready  for  slipping,  the  sails  are  loose,  and  if  strangers 
try  to  board  her,  the  boat  will  go  to  sea." 

"  One  must  approve  your  caution,"  said  Rupert 
dryly.  "  Well,  I  think  my  plans  were  good,  and  but 
for  two  things  they  might  have  been  carried  out.  Our 
robbing  Father  Sebastian's  church  forced  Larrinaga  to 
move,  but  I  was  not  responsible  for  this.  The  other's 
more  important  and  the  mistake  was  mine."  He 
turned  to  Marston  as  he  went  on :  "  When  you  were 
ill  with  fever  I  ought  to  have  poisoned  you.  Instead 
I  tried  a  cure  civilized  doctors  would  hesitate  to  use." 

"  Ah!  "  said  Marston,  "  you  saved  my  life?  " 

"  I  don't  want  thanks.  To  some  extent,  I  thought 
it  policy.  It  did  not  seem  worth  while  to  bother  about 
your  antagonism  then.  Afterwards,  when  we  tried  to 
drown  you,  we  were  too  late.  You  had  persuaded 
your  partner;  your  work  was  done.  If  you  had  not 
meddled,  I'd  have  led  him  where  I  wanted." 

"  I  think  that  is  so,  Bob.  I  owe  you  much,"  Wynd- 
ham  interposed. 

"If  Harry  had  brought  me  the  supplies  I  needed, 
I  could  have  fought  the  President's  troops,"  Rupert 
resumed,  fixing  his  bloodshot  eyes  on  Marston. 
"  Well,  you  spoiled  the  plot,  and  if  I'm  beaten  now,  it 
is  not  Larrinaga  but  you  who  wins.  You  ought  to  be 


296  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

flattered.     For  such  a  man  as  you  are,  it's  a  remarkable 
victory !  " 

There  was  something  sinister  in  his  sneering  voice 
and  Wyndham  said  sharply,  "  It  will  be  prudent  for 
you  to  see  Bob  does  not  fall  ill  again.  If  I  meet  with 
any  misfortune,  he  will  make  you  accountable." 

Rupert  shrugged.  "  We  will  let  it  go  and  wait 
until  news  about  the  soldiers  arrives.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  have  some  preparations  to  make.  You  can 
sleep  until  I  come  back.  Nobody  will  disturb  you." 

"  I  have  a  pistol,  but  don't  expect  to  use  it,"  Wynd- 
ham replied.  "  Your  need  of  our  help  is  our  best 
protection,  and  so  long  as  the  need  is  obvious  I  think 
we  are  pretty  safe." 

When  Rupert  went  out  they  lay  down  on  the  mats. 
Although  they  were  near  physical  exhaustion,  it  was 
impossible  to  sleep.  The  tension  they  had  borne  had 
not  relaxed,  because  until  the  news  of  the  soldiers' 
advance  was  signalled  the  situation  was  not  free  from 
danger.  The  tug  might  strand  among  the  shoals,  a 
strong  breeze  and  breaking  surf  might  stop  her  enter- 
ing the  lagoon  to  land  the  troops,  and  delay  would 
give  Rupert  time  to  form  fresh  plans.  Marston  did 
not  trust  him  yet.  If  Rupert  could  escape  without 
their  help,  he  would  not  leave  them  at  liberty  to  meddle 
again. 

They  heard  nothing  from  outside  and  the  hut  was 
very  quiet.  The  silence  began  to  wear  Marston's 
nerve.  He  could  not  wait  much  longer,  but  it  might 
be  rash  to  go  out,  and  he  forced  himself  to  smoke, 
although  the  tobacco  burned  his  tongue  and  his  mouth 
was  parched.  It  looked  as  if  Rupert  were  not  coming 
back.  Perhaps  he  had  cheated  them  and  gone  off 


THE  BAT  OWNS  DEFEAT  297 

alone.  Marston  pictured  his  malicious  grin  as  he  stole 
off  through  the  bush  and  left  them  to  wait  for 
Larrinaga. 

At  length,  however,  Rupert  returned  to  the  hut. 
"  I  have  got  news,''  he  said  coolly.  "  Your  boys  are 
ready  and  we  will  start.  Father  Sebastian  is  an  em- 
barrassment; you  will  see  that  we  cannot  leave  him 
behind." 

"  Send  for  him,"  said  Wyndham.  "  You  had  better 
understand  that  I'm  accountable  for  his  safety." 

Father  Sebastian  came  in,  and  \Yyndham  asked  if 
he  would  promise  to  say  nothing  about  their  visit  and 
departure  with  the  Bat. 

"  Xo,"  said  Father  Sebastian.  "  I  will  not  promise. 
I  do  not  know  what  is  happening,  but  it  looks  as  if  the 
punishment  this  man  deserves  were  overtaking  him.  I 
will  not  help  him  to  escape." 

"  You  are  in  his  power  yet,"  Wyndham  remarked. 

Father  Sebastian  smiled.  "  I  am  an  old  man  and 
my  work  in  the  dreary  swamps  is  hard.  My  life  is 
not  worth  much;  there  are  things  I  value  more." 

"  I  was  wrong,"  said  Wyndham  quietly.  "  How- 
ever, since  you  refuse,  we  must  take  you  with  us  as 
far  as  the  coast.  It  would  help  if  you  promised  not 
to  run  away." 

"  I  will  run  away,  if  it  is  possible.  This  man  is  bad 
and  cruel ;  I  think  he  killed  your  agent,  and  now  he  is 
stealing  off,  the  soldiers  must  be  coming.  I  will  warn 
them  if  I  can." 

"  After  all,  is  this  your  business?  You  are  a  mis- 
sionary," Wyndham  urged. 

"  I  am  the  Church's  servant  and  a  citizen  of  the 
country  the  Bat  defies.  Perhaps  its  rule  is  corrupt, 


298  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

but  it  is  better  than  his.  Its  citizens  are  Christians 
and  follow  the  light,  although  their  steps  are  sometimes 
weak;  these  others  would  plunge  the  land  in  the  dark 
of  superstitious  horror.  I  know,  I  have  long  watched 
the  shadow  deepen." 

"  You  are  a  loyal  servant,"  Wyndham  replied.  "  I 
am  afraid  you  must  come  with  us,  but  we  will  try  to 
make  your  journey  easy." 

"  White  man  fool  man !  Black  man  fix  them  thing 
different,"  Rupert  remarked  with  his  cruel  grin.  Then 
he  indicated  Marston  and  added  in  good  English : 
"  This  fellow  is  certainly  a  fool,  but  his  boyish  scruples 
have  beaten  my  cleverest  schemes." 

He  signed  them  to  go  out.  The  Krooboys  from  the 
schooner  were  waiting,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  party 
plunged  into  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  BAT'S  EXIT 

/COLUMBINE  rolled  heavily  on  the  broken  swell 
\_y  and  the  lamp  that  swung  from  a  beam  threw  a 
puzzling  light  about  the  cabin.  Now  and  then  water 
splashed  on  the  deck  and  the  slack  sails  flapped.  The 
fresh  breeze  had  dropped,  although  the  sea  had  not  yet 
gone  down,  and  Marston  had  set  the  topsail  and  the 
balloon  jib.  The  light  canvas  would  chafe  and  was 
not  of  much  use,  but  he  must  reach  Kingston  as  soon 
as  possible.  He  was  exhausted  by  physical  effort  and 
anxious  watching,  and  when  Rupert  replaced  the  ban- 
dage on  his  comrade's  face  he  leaned  back  slackly  on 
the  locker  seat. 

\Yyndham  lay  in  an  upper  berth,  in  the  faint  draught 
that  came  down  through  the  open  skylight.  A  wet 
cloth  covered  his  face  and  the  cabin  smelt  of  drugs, 
lie  did  not  move  and  had  not  been  altogether  con- 
scious for  some  time.  Rupert  wore  Harry's  white 
clothes  and  looked,  in  the  unsteady  light,  like  a  rather 
haggard  and  jaundiced  Englishman.  Marston  had 
noted  his  firm  touch  when  he  fixed  the  bandage  and 
now  he  was  methodically  putting  back  some  bottles  in 
the  medicine  chest.  When  he  finished  he  bent  over 
the  berth  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  listened  to  Wyndham's 
breathing. 

"  I  think  he  will  live,"  he  said.  "  Although  he  is 
very  weak,  we  have  got  the  fever  down,  and  the  wound 

299 


300  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

is  not  as  septic  as  it  was.  Anyhow,  you  must  get  him 
into  hospital  at  Kingston  soon." 

Marston  remembered  afterwards  that  Rupert  had 
said  you,  not  we.  and  thought  it  significant.  Now, 
however,  he  was  dully  pondering  something  else. 

"If  you  had  not  been  on  board,  Harry  would  not 
have  lived,"  he  said. 

"  You're  puzzled  about  my  saving  him?  "  Rupert  re- 
joined. "  Well,  I  don't  owe  Harry  much  and  I  owe 
you  less.  On  the  whole,  I  hardly  think  our  relation- 
ship accounts  for  my  efforts.  A  bold  experiment  is 
interesting  when  somebody  else  is  the  subject,  and  one 
rather  enjoys  using  one's  skill." 

Since  there  were  only  one  or  two  very  simple  surgi- 
cal instruments  in  the  medicine  chest,  Marston  thought 
Rupert's  skill  was  remarkable.  He  had  envied  him 
his  firm  hand  and  nerve  when  he  cut  out  the  bullet  that 
had  pierced  Harry's  cheek  and  jaw  and  lodged  in  his 
neck.  As  he  remembered  the  operation,  in  which  he 
had  been  forced  to  help,  Marston  shuddered.  After 
a  few  moments  Rupert  looked  up. 

"  You  need  fresh  air.  Go  and  see  how  she 
steers.  Harry  will  sleep,  but  if  it's  necessary  I  will 
watch." 

Marston  went  on  deck.  It  was  a  little  cooler  and 
the  touch  of  the  dew  on  his  face  was  soothing.  He 
put  on  an  oilskin  and  sat  down  by  the  wheel.  The 
night  was  clear  and  the  tops  of  the  broken  swell  shone 
with  phosphorescence.  Columbine  rolled  about,  shak- 
ing her  masts  and  booms  with  savage  jerks.  Blocks 
rattled  and  now  and  then  the  canvas  banged.  Yet  she 
forged  ahead  and  kept  her  course. 

By-and-by  Marston  lighted  his  pipe  and  tried  to  fix 
the  elusive  pictures  of  their  journey  to  the  coast.  To 


THE  BAT'S  EXIT 


301 


begin  with,  the  night  they  left  the  hut  Wyndham  owned 
he  had  a  dose  of  fever.  In  the  morning  he  was  worse, 
but  time  was  valuable  and  they  pushed  on.  Then,  at 
evening  when  they  came  down  from  the  hills  to  cut 
the  soldiers'  line  of  march,  they  saw  two  or  three  peons 
run  out  from  a  ruined  village  and  plunge  into  the 
bush.  Another,  who  was  slower  and  was  caught, 
stated  that  they  had  been  left  behind  to  wait  until 
some  more  troops  came  up.  The  village  was  empty, 
but  the  peon  took  the  party  to  a  hut  he  had  been  ordered 
to  watch.  It  was  getting  dark  and  when  they  went 
in  Marston  struck  a  match.  Next  moment  he  let  it 
drop,  for  a  white  man  lay  on  the  floor  and  something 
strange  about  his  attitude  indicated  that  he  was  dead. 
Then  Rupert  picked  up  the  burning  match  and  lighted 
a  lantern. 

Marston  shuddered  as  his  memory  recaptured  the 
scene  the  dim  illumination  touched.  The  dead  man 
had  drawn  up  his  legs  and  his  face  was  distorted,  but 
Marston  did  not  want  to  remember  this.  It  was 
Peters'  face,  and  he  knew  the  fellow  had  not  met  a 
peaceful  death.  Father  Sebastian  knelt  down  by  the 
body ;  Rupert  stooped  and  smiled. 

"  You  cannot  help  him  and  I  do  not  think  you  will 
find  a  mark.  I  doubt  if  he  belonged  to  any  flock,  but 
it  was  not  to  yours.  Anyhow,  he  is  dead,  and  you 
need  not  bother  about  how  he  died." 

"  Yet  you  know,"  said  Father  Sebastian,  fixing  him 
with  steady  eyes. 

Rupert  nodded.  "  He  meant  to  sell  me,  and  it  is 
possible  he  got  his  reward,  although  he  did  not  enjoy 
it  long.  One  could  philosophize  about  it,  but  I  leave 
this  to  you.  Well,  1  think  we  will  not  wait  until  his 
friends  arrive." 


302  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  Father  Sebastian,  firmly.  "  It 
is  a  duty  to  bury  the  dead." 

Rupert  shrugged  and  looked  at  Marston.  Wynd- 
ham,  shivering  with  ague,  had  sat  down  and  rested  his 
head  in  his  hands,  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  was 
going  on. 

"  Watching  the  padre  did  not  run  off  has  cost  us 
some  time,"  Rupert  remarked.  "  However,  it  would 
be  awkward  if  he  sent  the  next  detachment  of  caza- 
dores  after  us.  I  expect  he  knows  how  I  would  meet 
the  difficulty." 

"  We  will  leave  you  and  not  bother  you  for  a  prom- 
ise," Marston  said  to  Father  Sebastian,  who  gave  him 
his  hand. 

"  There  is  much  that  puzzles  me  and  I  do  not  know 
why  you  help  this  bad  man  to  escape,  but  I  feel  you 
are  honest,"  he  said.  "  Sometimes  one  must  trust 
without  understanding."  He  lifted  his  hand  solemnly. 
"  Vaya  con  Dios!  " 

Then  they  went  out  and  left  him  in  the  dark  with 
Peters. 

Marston  did  not  know  if  Father  Sebastian  sent  the 
soldiers  after  them,  but  although  he  thought  he  did  he 
bore  him  no  grudge.  The  man  was  staunch,  and  from 
his  point  of  view,  was  justified.  In  the  morning, 
Rupert  declared  they  must  push  on  faster,  and  their 
march  became  a  race  for  the  coast.  Now  Marston 
could  think  about  it  coolly,  he  imagined  Rupert  feared 
some  of  the  negroes  had  joined  Larrinaga  and  were 
signalling  news  of  the  party's  flight.  Wyndham 
stumbled  as  they  forced  their  way  savagely  in  scorch- 
ing heat  across  reedy  swamps  and  through  tangled 
bush,  but  he  would  not  be  carried  and  this  would  have 


THE  BAT'S  EXIT  303 

delayed  them  dangerously.  Marston  recaptured  with 
strange  vividness  the  last  scene. 

It  was  dark  when  they  broke  out  of  the  forest  and 
saw  the  sea  sparkle  under  a  half-moon.  The  land- 
breeze  blew  fresh,  and  now  and  then  belts  of  warm 
mist  trailed  across  the  beach.  There  were  no  man- 
groves, the  beach  was  flat  and  open,  but  they  were 
some  distance  off  the  spot  where  the  schooner  lay 
and  they  labored  across  the  soft  sand.  Marston 
owned  that  the  suspense  had  shaken  his  nerve.  He 
was  desperately  anxious  to  get  on  board  before  he  was 
stopped,  but  Wyndham  could  hardly  walk.  For  half- 
an-hour  Marston  dragged  him  along. 

When  they  were  nearly  level  with  the  schooner,  in- 
distinct figures  ran  out  from  the  bush.  Wyndham 
turned,  and  shaking  off  Marston,  drew  his  pistol.  He 
fired  two  or  three  shots,  but  since  the  distance  was 
long  Marston  thought  he  rather  expected  to  warn  the 
crew  than  stop  their  pursuers.  The  latter  did  not  stop 
and  Marston  dragged  Wyndham  on  again.  A  boat 
was  coming,  but  he  doubted  if  they  could  reach  it 
before  the  others  arrived.  The  sand  was  soft,  he  was 
exhausted,  and  Wyndham  lurched  about.  Sometimes 
he  nearly  pulled  Marston  down. 

Shots  were  fired  behind  them  and  bullets  hummed 
overhead.  The  negroes  were  running  hard  close  in 
front,  and  the  boat  plunged  into  the  belt  of  surf. 
Then  Wyndham  fell  and  pulled  Marston  over.  When 
he  fell  Marston  got  some  sand  in  his  eyes  and  could 
hardly  see.  Somebody  seized  his  arm  and  dragged 
him  to  his  feet;  men  were  splashing  in  the  foam  about 
the  boat.  He  stuck  to  Harry  but  did  not  know  how 
they  got  on  board.  Then  he  felt  the  boat  plunge  and 


304  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

saw  the  half-naked  Kroos  were  pulling  for  their  lives. 
Wyndham  leaned  against  him  and  Marston  felt  his 
jacket  getting  wet;  he  afterwards  found  that  it  was 
wet  by  blood.  He  put  Harry  down  in  the  stern-sheets 
and  seized  the  nearest  Krooboy's  oar,  thrusting  while 
the  other  pulled. 

When  they  got  on  board  the  schooner  the  sails 
were  going  up  and  nobody  else  was  hit.  Marston 
and  Rupert  carried  Wyndham  to  the  cabin  and  Mars- 
ton  remembered  his  horror  when  they  put  him  in  his 
berth.  A  glancing  bullet,  turning  over  endways,  had 
mangled  the  lower  part  of  his  face. 

This,  however,  was  some  days  since  and  Marston 
was  getting  over  the  shock.  Rupert  had  told  him 
Harry  would  live,  although  he  would  always  wear 
the  scar. 

By-and-by  Marston  got  up  and  walked  about  the 
deck.  He  dared  not  think  about  Flora  yet;  he  must 
navigate  Columbine  to  Kingston  and  get  Wyndham 
into  hospital.  There  was  a  little  more  wind  now  and 
the  damp  sails  did  not  shake,  but  the  rolling  and  lurch- 
ing stopped  the  schooner.  Although  it  was  important 
to  make  Kingston  soon,  one  could  do  nothing  to  help 
their  progress  and  Marston  presently  returned  to  the 
wheel.  He  waited  for  a  time,  because  he  did  not 
want  to  talk  to  Rupert.  His  shrinking  from  the  fel- 
low had  not  lessened,  but  he  was  very  tired  and  limp, 
and  at  length  he  went  down  and  got  into  his  bunk. 

In  the  morning  the  breeze  was  fresh  and  Columbine 
threw  the  spray  about  as  she  plunged  across  the  white 
combers.  At  noon,  Marston  got  his  sextant  to  take 
the  snn  and  sat  for  some  minutes  on  the  skylight  cal- 
culating the  schooner's  position.  Then  he  looked  up 
and  saw  Rupert. 


THE  BAT  S  1 


305 


"  I  think  the  wind  will  hold,"  said  the  latter. 
"  When  do  you  expect  to  arrive  ?  " 

Marston  told  him  and  added :  "  You  are  not  on 
the  crew  list  and  since  Kingston's  a  British  port  we 
will  have  to  comply  with  the  usual  formalities.  We 
must  think  of  a  way  of  accounting  for  your  being  on 
board."  He  paused  and  added  with  a  touch  of  em- 
barrassment: "  It  may  be  some  time  before  the  doc- 
tors let  me  take  Harry  home  and  I  don't  know  -  — " 

'You  don't  know  what  to  do  about  me?"  Rupert 
suggested  with  the  smile  Marston  disliked.  "  Well, 
suppose  you  wait  until  you  get  there.  I  imagine  I 
won't  bother  you  much.  In  the  meantime,  you  haven't 
hauled  your  patent-log.  Let's  see  what  distance  it 
marks." 

Columbine's  log  was  old-fashioned.  In  order  to 
read  the  dial  it  was  necessary  to  bring  the  torpedo- 
shaped  instrument  on  board,  and  Rupert,  jumping  on 
a  grating,  put  his  foot  on  the  low  taffrail  as  he  began 
to  haul  the  line.  The  line  was  long,  the  log,  with  its 
spiral  vanes,  offered  some  resistance,  and  Marston, 
knowing  it  would  be  a  minute  or  two  before  Rupert 
lifted  it  out  of  the  water,  studied  the  compass.  Look- 
ing round,  he  saw  the  other's  bent  figure  outlined 
against  the  foaming  wake ;  and  then  he  glanced  ahead. 
The  wind  was  fresh  and  Columbine  sailed  fast. 
White  combers  rolled  up  to  windward  and  as  she 
plunged  across  their  tops  she  threw  up  clouds  of 
spray. 

In  about  a  minute,  Marston  looked  aft  again  and 
braced  himself  as  he  gazed  at  the  slanted  rail.  He 
had  heard  no  splash  or  cry,  but  Rupert  had  gone.  lie 
shouted,  and  signed  to  the  Kroo  steersman,  who  pulled 
round  the  wheel.  Columbine  shipped  some  water  as, 


306  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

with  sails  flapping  and  banging,  she  came  head  to 
wind.  The  long  booms  jerked,  blocks  and  ropes 
whipped  to  and  fro,  and  the  crew  began  to  run  about 
the  deck.  One  or  two  hauled  down  the  foresail,  one 
or  two  trimmed  the  jibs  aback,  and  Marston  helped 
the  others  at  the  Burton  tackle  to  hoist  out  the  gig. 

He  jumped  on  board  as  she  took  the  water.  Four 
excited  negroes  leaped  down  from  the  schooner's  bul- 
warks, and  a  white  sea  washed  across  the  bows  as  they 
shoved  her  off.  They  got  away  without  damage,  and 
pulled  obliquely  to  leeward  while  Marston  tried  to 
calculate  how  far  Columbine  had  gone  since  he  last 
saw  Rupert.  It  was  necessary  to  be  accurate,  because, 
except  when  the  combers  picked  up  the  boat,  he  could 
see  nothing  but  the  wrhite  tops  of  the  waves.  Besides, 
rowing  on  an  angry  sea  is  hard  and  the  men  would 
soon  get  exhausted.  Since  they  could  not  search  long, 
he  must  reach  the  proper  spot. 

No  floating  object  tossed  among  the  foam,  and 
after  half  an  hour  he  gave  it  up.  Rupert  Wyndham 
had  gone ;  he  was  old,  and  a  good  swimmer  could  not 
have  lived  long  in  such  a  sea,  because  a  man,  buffeted 
by  breaking  waves,  may  drown  before  he  sinks.  The 
boat  had  shipped  much  water,  the  crew  were  worn 
out,  and  had  some  trouble  to  row  back  to  Columbine. 
When  they  had  hoisted  in  the  gig  and  put  the  schooner 
on  her  course,  Marston  went  to  the  cabin  and  mixed  a 
drink.  He  was  wet,  his  hands  shook,  and  his  arms 
ached,  for  he  had  been  forced  to  use  his  strength  while 
he  labored  with  the  big  sculling  oar. 

Moreover,  he  was  strangely  disturbed.  He  had 
shrunk  from  Rupert  Wyndham  with  half-instinctive 
repulsion.  In  one  sense,  Rupert's  drowning  would  re- 
lieve him  and  Wyndham  from  an  awkward  respon- 


THE  BAT'S  EXIT  307 

sibility.  Marston  admitted  that  he  had  recognized 
this,  although  he  hoped  he  had  not  allowed  it  to  influ- 
ence him.  Indeed,  because  he  did  not  like  Rupert,  he 
had  made  sterner  efforts  to  reach  the  spot  where  he  had 
gone  overboard ;  but  he  wondered  whether  he  had  per- 
haps afterwards  neglected  means  he  might  have  used 
had  the  man  been  his  friend.  On  the  whole,  he  did  not 
think  so,  and  his  tormenting  doubts  began  to  vanish. 
For  all  that,  he  was  glad  Wyndham  was  asleep. 

When,  some  hours  later,  Marston  went  back  to  the 
cabin  Wyndham's  eyes  were  open.  The  lower  part 
of  his  face  was  covered  by  the  bandage  and  he  could 
not  talk,  but  Marston  thought  he  missed  Rupert  and 
was  curious.  Although  Harry  was  very  weak.  Mars- 
ton  felt  he  had  better  tell  him  now.  If  he  did  not, 
his  unsatisfied  curiosity  might  keep  him  restless  and 
bring  the  fever  back. 

"  I  know  what  you  want  to  ask,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Rupert's  not  here.  He  fell  overboard  when  he  was 
hauling  up  the  log." 

Wyndham's  eyelids  flickered  and  his  hand  moved 
under  the  blanket,  but  this  was  the  only  sign  he  gave. 

"  She  was  rolling,"  Marston  went  on.  "  He  stood 
with  his  foot  on  the  taffrail,  leaning  out  to  gather  in 
the  line.  You  see,  there  was  nothing  to  save  him  if  he 
lost  his  balance " 

He  stopped,  for  he  saw  Wyndham  was  looking  at 
him  very  hard.  Then  he  resumed :  "  I  think  he  did 
lose  his  balance,  but  I  don't  know.  I  was  looking 
forward,  wondering  whether  we  ought  to  haul  down  a 
reef,  and  none  of  the  boys  saw  him  fall.  There  was 
not  a  splash." 

A  feeble  movement  of  Wyndham's  head  urged  him 
to  go  on. 


3o8  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

"  We  got  the  gig  over  soon,  but  the  boat  had  been 
going  fast  and  head-reached  some  distance  when  we 
brought  her  round.  Then  there  was  a  confused  sea." 

Marston  saw  Wyndham  understood;  he  need  not 
labor  his  explanation,  but  he  wished  Harry  could  talk. 
There  was  an  assurance  he  wanted  his  comrade  to 
give;  Harry  knew  how  he  had  felt  about  Rupert. 

"  I  think  I  did  my  best,"  he  said  awkwardly.  "  She 
nearly  capsized  once  or  twice;  the  sea  was  hollow  and 
curled  before  you  expected.  The  water  on  board  was 
getting  deep,  and  we  couldn't  bale." 

A  very  faint  smile  flickered  in  Wyndham's  eyes  and 
Marston  was  conscious  of  keen  relief.  Harry  had 
understood  his  embarrassment  and  was  satisfied.  To 
hint  at  regret  would  be  useless  cant ;  there  was  nothing 
more  to  be  said.  For  all  that,  Marston  was  glad  when 
a  Krooboy  called  him  on  deck.  It  was  blowing  fresher 
and  he  gave  some  orders  and  occupied  himself  by 
shortening  sail. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    FRESH    START 

DUSK  had  fallen  and  rows  of  lights  twinkled 
along  the  walls  at  the  river-mouth.  Tall  chim- 
neys and  warehouses  rose  against  the  sky,  there  was  a 
biting  wind,  and  Marston  shivered  at  the  door  of  the 
liner's  smoking-room.  Her  engines  throbbed  slackly 
as  she  steamed  in  with  the  tide,  past  the  dark  shapes 
of  anchored  vessels.  A  mile  or  two  ahead,  bright 
streaks,  in  which  the  separate  lights  were  merged, 
marked  the  landing  stages,  and  Marston  looked  for 
the  red,  white,  and  green  triangle  that  would  indicate 


THE  FRESH  START  309 

the  company's  tug.  For  his  comrade's  sake,  he  was 
illogically  relieved  because  he  could  not  see  her  yet, 
although  the  moment  he  dreaded  could  not  be  put  off 
long. 

After  a  time,  he  went  back  into  the  smoking  room. 
\\~yndham,  wearing  a  heavy  coat,  lounged  on  a  settee. 
Me  was  very  thin  and  his  face  was  haggard,  but  this 
was  not  all.  His  mouth  was  distorted,  for  one  side 
drooped,  giving  him  a  strange  look  of  vacant  amuse- 
ment. The  contrast  between  this  and  the  melancholy 
in  his  eyes  was  rather  horrible.  Marston  was  getting 
used  to  the  disfigurement,  but  he  had  seen  that 
strangers  were  jarred.  Besides,  Wyndham  would 
never  again  articulate  clearly.  His  talk  was  slow  and 
awkward,  and  the  Kingston  doctor  doubted  if  he 
would  altogether  get  back  his  strength. 

"  Ten  minutes  yet ;  I  don't  see  the  tug,"  said  Mars- 
ton.  "  Shall  I  help  you  out  on  deck  when  she  comes?  " 

\Yyndham  smiled  and  answered  with  the  delibera- 
tion he  was  forced  to  use :  "  There  wouldn't  be  much 
use  in  that,  Bob.  I  heard  them  fixing  the  big  gang- 
way lights." 

Marston  knew  he  was  thinking  about  Flora  and  the 
shock  she  must  get.  It  was  going  to  be  hard  for 
Flora ;  in  fact,  it  was  hard  for  both. 

"  She  knows,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  was  frank  with 
Mabel  and  told  her  all  before  the  doctor  would  let  you 
write." 

"  Thanks !  Flora  has  pluck,  but  the  pluck  that  hides 
a  hurt  does  not  cure  it." 

"  It  goes  some  way,"  said  Marston.  "  When  Flora 
sees  you,  I  don't  think  she  will  see  the  scar." 

Then  one  or  two  of  the  passengers  came  in,  and  they 
waited  until  the  engines  stopped  and  they  heard  the 


310  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

tug's  paddles.  Wyndham  got  on  his  feet  awkwardly 
and  waved  back  Marston,  who  had  meant  to  give  him 
his  arm.  His  face  was  very  pinched,  but  his  eyes  were 
bright,  and  as  they  went  out  he  forced  a  smile. 

A  big  electric  lamp  hung  from  the  spar-deck  and 
threw  down  a  searching  light.  The  tug's  gangway 
was  run  out  and  people  began  to  come  on  board. 
Marston  saw  Mabel  and  his  heart  beat  with  mixed 
emotions  as  he  noted  her  black  dress,  for  a  cablegram 
had  told  him  Mrs.  Milliard  was  dead.  He  was  un- 
selfishly sorry  for  Mabel,  but  she  had  met  the  last  claim 
of  duty  and  he  had  waited  long. 

Then  Flora  stepped  down  from  the  gangway  and 
went  straight  across  the  deck  to  Wyndham,  who  stood 
under  the  lamp.  The  strong  light  touched  their  faces 
and  Marston  imagined  the  corners  of  Flora's  mouth 
twitched.  This  was  all ;  her  step  was  swift  and  eager 
and  her  eyes  shone  with  tender  welcome.  She  was 
very  brave.  Marston  saw  no  pity  in  her  look;  there 
was  nothing  but  gladness  and  love. 

"  My  dear!  "  she  cried,  and  Wyndham  took  her  in 
his  feeble  arms. 

A  few  moments  afterwards  Mabel  gave  Marston  her 
hand  and  when  he  had  gazed  at  her  his  glance  rested 
on  her  black  dress. 

"  I'm  sorry.     Very  sorry ;  I  think  you  understand !  " 

"  I  know,  Bob,"  said  Mabel.  "  You  thought  about 
me;  you  don't  think  much  about  yourself.  But  I  must 
speak  to  Harry." 

She  left  him  and  he  was  filled  with  tenderness  and 
pride  as  he  watched  her  greet  Wyndham.  Her  smile 
was  frank  and  her  voice  was  sympathetic,  but  one  got 
no  hint  of  pity  that  might  jar  a  sensitive  nerve.  Mabel 
struck  the  right  note,  and  Marston  knew  it  was  not  all 


THE  FRESH  START  311 

good-breeding  that  guided  her.     He  loved  her  for  the 
human  kindness  she  gave  his  comrade. 

When  they  went  down  the  gangway  Wyndham  was 
forced  to  lean  on  Marston's  arm.  A  car  was  waiting 
at  the  floating  bridge  that  led  to  the  pier-head  and 
Marston  helped  Wyndham  in. 

"  I'll  go  to  the  office  early  and  report  to  you  in  the 
evening,"  he  said.  "  You  must  take  things  easy  and 
not  bother  at  all." 

Flora  and  Chisholm  got  in  and  when  they  drove  off 
Marston  took  Mabel's  hand. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  we'll  walk  to  the  top.  I  want 
to  look  about  and  realize  I'm  at  home.  I  feel  like  a 
boy  who  has  just  come  back  from  his  first  term  at 
school." 

'Was  it  very  hard,  Bob?"  Mabel  asked,  sym- 
pathetically. 

Marston  smiled.  "  It  was  foreign,  if  you  under- 
stand, and  that  was  worse.  Plots,  gloom,  sickness, 
and  mystery  that  made  you  savage  because  you  didn't 
know  if  you  were  being  cleverly  cheated  or  not. 
Sometimes  I  half  believed  the  Bat  was  a  magician.  In 
fact,  it  was  all  from  which  a  sober  fellow  revolts." 

"  Yet  you  were  strong  enough  to  carry  out  the  job 
you  hated.  That  is  much,  Bob." 

Marston  looked  down  the  river.  Long  rows  of 
lights  pricked  out  the  dock  walls  that  narrowed  to  a 
dark  gap  in  the  distance.  Low  constellations  marked 
the  ferry  landing  stages,  and  in  the  stream  other  lights, 
colored  green  and  red,  moved  swiftly  up  and  down. 
In  the  background  were  misty  towers  and  spires. 
Whistles  shrieked  and  one  heard  the  splash  of  paddles 
and  the  throb  of  propellers,  for  the  commerce  of  two 
cities  floated  up  on  the  tide.  Bob's  imagination  was 


312  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

sometimes  dull,  but  the  river  noises  moved  him  then. 
He  got  a  hint  of  ordered  effort  and  useful  activity. 
Sober  men  brought  home  the  ships  and  controlled  the 
trade  that  extended  across  the  world.  Perhaps,  if  one 
looked  for  it  with  understanding,  there  was  a  romance 
about  this  far-spread  trade,  but  of  one  kind  of  ro- 
mance Bob  had  had  enough. 

"  We  will  go  to  the  car,"  he  said  presently,  with 
quiet  happiness.  "  I've  got  back  and  you  are  with  me. 
I  have  all  I  want.  Coming  up  channel,  my  satisfac- 
tion was  half  spoiled;  the  trouble  waiting  Flora 
haunted  me.  Then,  to  some  extent,  I  felt  I  hadn't 
justified  her  trust.  I'd  promised  to  see  Harry  out, 
and  I  brought  him  home  like  that." 

"If  you  had  not  been  very  staunch,  he  might  not 
have  come  home  at  all.  But  will  he  always  be  dis- 
figured?" 

"  The  mark  of  the  bullet  won't  wear  off  and  he  will 
never  talk  easily.  For  the  rest,  the  Kingston  doctor 
wasn't  very  encouraging.  He  said  Harry  had  ob- 
viously borne  a  crushing  strain  for  long,  and  now  it 
had  broken  him,  we  mustn't  look  for  a  quick  recover}". 
Still  he  was  young  and  proper  treatment  in  England 
would  help.  Well,  his  meeting  Flora  is  over  and  I've 
got  rid  of  a  load." 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  been  afraid  for  Flora." 

"  I  see  this  now ;  she  was  wonderful,"  Marston 
agreed.  "  Human  nature's  rather  mixed  and  some  is 
pretty  base  metal,  but  you  feel  that  Flora's  almost 
without  alloy." 

Mabel  smiled.  "  I  like  you  when  you're  romantic, 
Bob;  but  even  then  you're  cautious." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Marston.  "  After  all,  I  only  know 
one  girl  who  is  pure  gold." 


THE  FRESH  START  313 

"  Now  you're  quite  extravagant,  but  you're  very 
nice  indeed,"  Mabel  replied,  and  their  car  rolled  up. 

Next  evening  Mabel  went  with  Bob  to  Wyndham's 
small  house.  Wyndham,  looking  pale  and  jaded,  oc- 
cupied an  easy  chair  by  the  fire  and  Mabel  ordered 
him  not  to  get  up. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  office  and  all  is  going  well," 
Marston  remarked.  "  Xext  week  you  can  come  down 
for  perhaps  an  hour  a  day.  \Ye  won't  need  you  longer 
and  I  mean  to  be  firm.  Nevis  tells  me  he  won't  stay. 
I  imagine  he  doesn't  approve  my  methods,  but  I'd 
rather  expected  this  and  think  I've  got  a  better  man." 

"If  you're  satisfied "  said  Wyndham,  smiling. 

"  Since  Nevis  began  at  the  office,  I  suppose  you  feel 
he  belongs  to  the  old  state  of  things." 

Marston  looked  half  embarrassed,  but  nodded.  "  I 
did  feel  something  like  that.  A  new  man  is  better 
when  you  make  a  fresh  start  on  another  line.  How- 
ever, I'm  not  going  to  bother  about  business;  I've  told 
you  enough  to  put  your  mind  at  rest.  There's  some- 
thing much  more  important,  Mabel  has  agreed  to 
marry  me  next  month." 

Flora  kissed  Mabel  and  for  a  time  they  engaged  in 
happy  talk.  Then  Marston  got  up. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  drawing-room.  It's  a  long 
time  since  I  heard  good  music  and  Mabel  said  she'd 
play." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  liked  music  much,  Bob,"  Flora 
remarked. 

"  All  the  same,  I  do  like  it,"  Marston  rejoined. 
"  It's  true  I've  been  to  concerts  that  bored  me;  but  all 
music's  charming  when  Mabel  plays." 

Flora  let  them  go  and  then  looked  at  Wyndham. 
"  A  wedding  present's  the  next  thing,  Harry,  and  it 


3H  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

will  need  some  thought.  What  can  we  give  them,  who 
have  given  us  so  much  ?  " 

Wyndham  smiled.  "  I  imagine  Bob  would  be  con- 
tent with  our  gratitude,  although  he'd  feel  badly  em- 
barrassed if  you  made  it  too  plain."  His  smile,  how- 
ever vanished  as  he  resumed :  "  Anyhow,  I  shall 
never  wipe  out  my  debt.  There  are  not  many  like 
Bob." 

He  mused  for  a  few  moments  and  went  on :  "I 
remember  his  telling  me  Rupert  was  drowned.  My 
face  was  bandaged ;  I  couldn't  speak  and  was  too  weak 
to  move.  Bob  could  only  see  my  eyes,  and  as  he 
watched  them  I  knew  what  he  thought.  Because  he 
had  hated  Rupert  from  the  beginning,  he  was  des- 
perately anxious  to  persuade  me  he  had  done  his  best. 
The  thing  was,  of  course,  ridiculous.  Bob  being  the 
man  he  is,  one  could  not  doubt  him.  It  was  unthink- 
able to  imagine  he  had  not  used  every  effort,  although 
the  sea  was  rough  and  he  risked  a  capsize.  The  boat 
was  half  swamped  when  he  brought  her  back.  Yet  I 
imagine  he  was  more  disturbed  than  me." 

"  I  think  Bob  did  not  see  him  fall  overboard?  " 

"  No,"  said  Wyndham.  "  Rupert  may  have  lost  his 
balance,  but  I  doubt.  We  were  not  far  from  Kingston 
and  when  we  got  there  he  must,  so  to  speak,  resume  a 
white  man's  responsibilities  and  begin  life  again.  He 
had  lived  like  a  savage,  commanding  fear  and  using 
power  that  few  civilized  rulers  know ;  but  all  that  had 
gone  and  he  was  proud." 

"  But  you  were  disturbed  when  Bob  told  you/' 
Flora  urged. 

"  At  first,  I  was  conscious  of  relief.  I  thought 
Rupert  had  seen  the  only  way  out  of  the  tangle.  Be- 
fore he  went,  I'd  begun  to  feel  the  situation  was  im- 


THE  FRESH  START  315 

possible  for  us  all.  Afterwards,  I  saw  that  my  greedy 
ambition  had  helped  to  involve  us  and  he  had  borne  the 
punishment.  Had  he  not  thought  he  could  get  supplies 
from  me,  he  would  not  have  plotted  the  rebellion." 

Flora  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  When 
Rob  came  in  the  morning  to  ask  if  you  had  slept,  I 
kept  him  a  few  minutes  and  we  talked  about  this. 
He  declared  your  engaging  to  supply  the  goods  was 
not  important,  because  if  you  had  refused,  Rupert 
could  have  got  all  he  needed  from  Peters  or  somebody 
else,  so  long  as  he  was  willing  to  give  a  high  price." 

"  It's  possible.  After  all,  Bob  is  cleverer  than 
people  sometimes  think,  and  I  see  an  explanation  for 
Peters'  vindictive  pursuit:  I'd  stopped  his  trading 
with  Rupert  and  refused  him  for  a  partner.  Well,  he 
paid,  and  Rupert  paid,  and  I  owe  my  escape  to  Bob." 

"  You  made  reparation,"  said  Flora  gently. 

"  I  tried ;  when  I  was  found  out.  It  was  rather 
late  then,  and  Bob  carried  much  of  the  load.  But 
I  did  not  get  off  free.  I  spent  days  of  torment, 
thinking  about  what  you  must  bear,  before  I  resigned 
myself  to  coming  home,  broken  in  body,  to  be  a  burden 
to  you." 

Flora's  eyes  shone.  "  Oh,  my  dear !  You  have 
come  home  and  that's  all  that  matters.  Besides, 
you'll  get  well  in  England;  your  strength  will  return." 

"  It  may  be  long,"  said  Wyndham  quietly.  "  I  can- 
not grumble  for  myself;  I'm  thinking  about  Bob.  It 
looks  as  if  he  must  carry  my  load  and  his,  but  he  won't 
growl.  He's  strong  and  his  pluck's  unbreakable. 
Pluck  and  honesty  like  Bob's  are  worth  more  than 
talent." 

He  paused,  and  smiled  when  he  resumed:  "  Well, 
while  I  try  not  to  lose  patience,  waiting,  and  wonder- 


3i6  WYNDHAM'S  PAL 

ing  whether  I'll  be  fit  to  work  again,  he'll  build  a  new 
Wyndhams*  on  a  surer  foundation  than  I  could  have 
laid.  I  can  see  him,  stopping  now  and  then  with  his 
puzzled  look,  but  not  stopping  long.  Bob's  way  is  to 
go  on,  straight  and  steadfastly." 

"  We  owe  him  much,"  said  Flora.  "  Your  debt  is 
mine." 

Then  there  were  steps  in  the  passage  and  the  others 
came  in.  Mabel  blushed  when  she  saw  Flora's  smile. 

"  After  all,  it  looks  as  if  music  did  bore  Bob,"  Flora 
remarked.  "  We  didn't  hear  you  playing  long." 

"  We  talked,"  said  Mabel,  with  a  frank  glance. 
"  There  was  much  to  talk  about  and  all  was  rather 
wonderful.  Perhaps  this  looks  extravagant,  but  I 
don't  think  it  is." 

"  Hold  fast  to  your  persuasion,"  said  Flora  gently. 
"  It  will  take  you  far.  Love  conquers  many  doubts 
and  troubles." 

"  Mabel's  troubles  ought  not  to  be  numerous," 
Wyndham  interposed.  "  She  is  going  to  marry  my 
partner;  the  best  man  I  know." 

Marston's  face  got  red,  but  Mabel  laughed,  a  soft, 
happy  laugh. 

"  I  really  think  Bob  stands  alone,"  she  said.  "  He's 
like  nobody  else  and  I'm  sure  there's  nobody  like  him." 


THE  END 


A     000114524 


